


Unanticipated Reciprocation

by InterestingInterpretation (bigblueboxat221b)



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Sherlock (TV) RPF
Genre: Fiction, M/M, Season/Series 05, completely fictional - Freeform, what if...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-09-28 00:30:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 33,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10059065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigblueboxat221b/pseuds/InterestingInterpretation
Summary: Filming for series 5 of 'Sherlock' takes an unexpected turn.





	1. Reading the Script

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt for this was a meme outlining the possible extras on season 5 Sherlock - including Martin and Benedict getting a little too carried away filming John and Sherlock's first kiss.
> 
> The story 'The Kiss That Lasted' by Addy340 on fanfiction.net looks at that scene, but I was thinking about before that - how would Martin react to reading the script for the first time?
> 
> Clearly this is a work of fiction. No actual inspiration from any real people has been used other than physical descriptions. I in no way intend to convey that any part of this, including the emotions, reactions and personal preferences of the people depicted, or the events that occur within, is a reflection of real life. 
> 
> It's fictional, peeps. Please enjoy it as such. <3

 

“Jesus Christ.” Martin dropped the script on the floor, his hand falling limply against his chair. Steven had hinted that there would be a general return to the format of the earlier series in this new series, with ‘a few changes in dynamic’. This was not what Martin had envisioned. He figured Steven meant the presence of Rosie, but this was…big. He closed his eyes, trying to figure it out.

“Mark’s finally gotten to him,” Martin muttered to himself. Mark had always been clear that he saw Sherlock and John as moving towards a more intimate relationship; Steven’s more conservative approach had been designed to appease the BBC, really. With all the queerbaiting uproar after series 4, Martin had thought they were done with _Sherlock_ , yet here they were, pre-production for series 5 well underway. Without opening his eyes, Martin grabbed his phone, calling Steven. He picked up on the first ring.

“Waiting for my call, Steven?” Martin asked dryly.

Steven chuckled. “I figured you’d hole up and read it as soon as you could, as usual.”

“Yeah. Well, good thing Amanda’s not here to see it, she’d have fucking puppies at this. My main question is, what the fuck is going on?” Martin asked, unable to keep the emotion from his voice.

“I’m assuming you mean that last scene?” Steven asked, the amusement in his voice goading Martin.

“The whole bloody script is like a romance novel, that’s just the climax!” Martin snapped.

“Look, this is the direction it’s going, Martin. It’s just an extension of what they’ve been talking about all over the internet for the last however many years, why do you care so much?” Steven asked.

Martin faltered. There was no way he was having this conversation. Ever. With anyone. “Look, I was just surprised that you guys finally bowed to public pressure, that’s all.” Martin said, hoping to distract Steven with this accusation. It worked.

“We’re not bowing to anything, Martin.” He protested, before letting out an explosive sigh. “Look, you and Ben should get together, talk through this, plan how you’re going to play it. It’s been a while, you need to reconnect.”

Martin could hear Steven trying to get rid of him. They both knew Benedict would be the voice of reason and calm, but it was the last voice Martin needed to hear right now. “Yeah, okay.” He said, wanting to get off the phone and think. He said his farewells then dropped his phone on top of the script.

It wasn’t that he was in love with Benedict, but their relationship was complicated. He’d been with Amanda when they had met. Benedict was endearing and of course attractive, Martin wasn’t blind, but he’d noticed in a friendly kind of way. Wasn’t that what people did? As they’d grown closer, shooting and promoting the early series’ of _Sherlock_ , Benedict had even visited him as he shot _The Hobbit_. Their friendship was solid, and it wasn’t really until he and Amanda had started having problems that Martin had begun to question what he wanted. While it was difficult to admit that it was not Amanda, it was even harder to accept that when he thought about whom he wanted to be with, an image of Benedict’s laughing face rose in his mind. He’d hidden it well, he thought; it was easy enough to be friendly over texts and phone calls, no body language or vocal cues to give away hidden meaning.

Shooting series 4, knowing that he and Amanda’s relationship was more or less over, Martin had found things increasingly difficult. The material was intense, and several scenes required him to work intimately with Benedict. The emotions of the whole series had, in some ways, mirrored his personal life, and Benedict had been very understanding. There had been some awkward moments, though; looks that had held a beat too long, an acting choice that brushed their hands together or brought them into each other’s personal space. He could hide his feelings under the guise of coping with the material, just. In fact he’d used the emotion of his fears and anxiety to fuel the scene in The Lying Detective in which John breaks down and Sherlock comforts him. Feeling Benedict’s hand slide up his back and cup the back of his head, Martin had wanted to wrap his arms around Benedict and never let him go, film crew be damned. That was the moment, he thought, when he had truly accepted his feelings. He was attracted to Benedict, and wanted to be with him in a romantic sense.

Since then, both their careers had skyrocketed. They had seen each other at a few ComiCons and awards ceremonies, but neither had made the effort to contact the other outside of the occasional text message. Martin had feared that Benedict had picked up on his awkwardness while they filmed series 4, and was reluctant to find himself in a position to talk about it. Their friendship had flagged, as they tended to do in this business when you didn’t make a concerted effort, but after everyone’s respective agents had wrangled enough time to shoot another series, Martin had known he and Benedict would need to reconnect. They needed to make decisions about how to approach what would certainly be some difficult material, knowing Steven. Little had he known just how difficult it would be.

Martin sat up and reached for his phone. He had to call Benedict; he would have received the script at more or less the same time as Martin. It was his habit to read scripts immediately, so any moment now he would read the last page, too. As Martin thought about what to say, his phone rang. He almost dropped it before he looked at the caller ID. Benedict Cumberbatch.

“Shit.” Martin swore into the empty room. He swallowed, then hit ‘accept’.

“Hi Ben.” he answered, injecting false lightness into his voice.

“I assume you’ve read it?” Benedict asked without preamble.

“Just finished.” Martin confirmed.

“What did you think?” Benedict asked, the same amusement in his voice as had been in Steven’s.

Martin swallowed. “It’s not what I expected.”

“Yeah, not the direction I thought they’d go in.” Benedict agreed. “And it’s only episode one.” He chuckled. “Never know, the BBC standards are more relaxed now, you might even get a chance to shag me in episode three.”

Martin almost choked at Benedict’s words. “What?” he choked out.

“Kidding, Martin. Fuck, relax. It’s just a kiss, and I seriously doubt that even Mark would write a sex scene into _Sherlock_.” Benedict sounded a little exasperated at his reaction.

Martin was relieved that Benedict thought it was just basic nerves on his behalf. “Yeah, just a surprise, you know? Plus the rest of the episode is way more intimate, it’s not even just the kiss. Have you seen the director’s notes? There’s more to it than that, and you know it.” He picked up his script, flipping through for an example. “John stitching Sherlock’s head wound, page 47. It’s dark, Sherlock’s sitting on the table, John’s standing right in close, he speaks quietly into Sherlock’s ear, for fuck’s sake.”

“Mrs. Hudson is asleep with Rosie in the next room, Martin, of course they’re quiet.” Benedict was amused again, obviously not reading as much into all this as Martin. Not that he would, Martin thought bitterly, for him it’s just a job. Not the chance to kiss the person he’s wanted to be with for ages, maybe the only chance ever.

“Yeah, right.” Martin answered, suddenly wanting to end this conversation, too.

“We should make some time to catch up, Martin. It’s been a long time.” Benedict said quietly, and Martin felt a stab of guilt.

“You’re right, it has.” He agreed. They chatted for a few moments about their kids, and Martin tentatively asked after Sophie. He’d heard rumours, of course, but hadn’t wanted to pry, given their lack of contact lately.

Benedict sighed. “That’s a whole long story.” He said, “I’m going to need a beer or two before I drag that story out.”

Martin let it lie, though he was curious. They had seemed like the perfect couple not that long ago.

“Okay, I’ll get Yvette and Kara to set it up, then.” Martin said. They said goodbyes, and hung up. Almost immediately, a text message arrived.

 

_Good to hear from you, mate. I’m looking forward to being Sherlock again. Baker Street Boys are back! BC_

 

Martin grinned despite his reservations. Benedict was bringing out their old joke again, signing his texts the same way Sherlock did, with his initials. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. He just had to be a professional.


	2. Preproduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benedict's perspective of what happened before.

Benedict was, if he was truthful, feeling a few butterflies take flight in his stomach. He was sitting in the hair and makeup chair, patiently allowing Sherlock to be created. He never really felt the part without the hair in particular, and he usually used this time to mentally review his lines, the specifics of blocking the scenes, the acting choices he’d already planned. Today, though was as different as any he’d had on Sherlock, and that was saying something. Sherlock had done a lot of crazy things in his time, but he’d never kissed his flatmate.

 

Benedict didn’t have a problem kissing Martin per se – they were actors, and having worked so much with Martin in the past, he was very comfortable with Martin. They trusted each other, professionally and personally, and that made a huge difference in a scene like this, _especially_ in a scene like this. Sherlock and John had so much history, they were as platonically intimate as two people could be, and any awkwardness from Benedict and Martin would surely show, spoiling the atmosphere. Of course Mark had wanted to do this scene early in the day, to get it done, as he would say, before other scenes at Baker Street were filmed. It was the first scene of several for Benedict that day, although unusually, Martin had just this scene before most of his day was free.

 

As he walked slowly back to his trailer, Benedict thought about his relationship with Martin. It had waxed and waned over the years. There had been periods where they had been as close as brothers; others where they had not had any contact for months. Martin had become a little odd during the filming of series 4, however. Benedict had not wanted to pry, Martin being surprisingly closed about his emotions during the filming of these episodes. He was usually an actor who accessed his emotions freely, allowing them to help him flesh out his performances. He and Benedict had had some quite intimate conversations in previous times, exploring their pasts, finding pieces of themselves to use in their craft. During series 4, though, Martin had come to the set, he had worked, and he had gone home. His work was as good as ever, and he put on a good show (he was an actor, after all), but Benedict had missed hanging out together, the practical jokes and kidding around between takes. It had all been internalised. In retrospect, of course, he and Amanda must have been having a really rough time – it was mere months later that their split went public. Benedict had felt immediately guilty that he had not known, though Martin had not exactly been forthcoming.

 

Now, filming series 5, Benedict had thought things might go back to the way they had been in the earlier series. He and Sophie were over, had been for a long while, it felt, and Martin was still single. They would be the Baker Street Boys again, a nickname they’d adopted for themselves after the read through for the end of series 4. No matter how hard Benedict tried, however, Martin still kept a part of himself closed off. He was more open than during series 4, but their intimate conversations didn’t happen; the kidding around seemed a little forced, the jokes less frequent. He had thrown himself into the pre-production, even doing some producing work with Sue, and Benedict knew that he would, of course, be a professional.

 

The fact remained that Martin would be kissing Benedict, and they had had exactly two conversations about it.

 

One had been on the phone, the day the scripts had arrived. Benedict always loved the first read of the script; not reading for character, or anything else except finding out _what happens?_ _Sherlock_ was always full of twists and turns, and Benedict had flown though the pages. The tone was quite different, much less dark than series 4; it was funnier, lighter, more like the earlier series, though without a Big Bad. There was something else, too, an edge…when he’d read the last page, Benedict had dropped the script and cursed.

“Shit.” He wasn’t surprised, after the build-up in the rest of the script; but this would bring a massive amount of press, plus the resurgence of the slightly uncomfortable phenomenon of ‘Johnlock’ that had finally started to die down before the announcement for series 5 had been made. _Better call Martin_ , Benedict thought, doing just that.

 

The second conversation had taken place in a closed room, before the script read through.

“We,” Steven had said in his Scots accent, “are the only five people in the world who have read the last page of this script.” He held up a copy for emphasis, then looked around the room at Benedict, Martin, Mark and Sue.

“The read through tomorrow will have the last page edited so that the kiss is gone.” He pointed at Benedict and Martin. “It’s still going to happen, mind you. The rest of the scene is more or less the same, the only big difference is that John and Sherlock don’t move towards each other at the end, the silence just hangs between them. There are a few lines that are a little different for the rehearsals, but you’ll need to use the original script for shooting.” Steven focussed on Martin. “No changes or omissions, Martin, without running it past me.”

Benedict nodded. Steven was notorious for insisting on the highest security Benedict had ever known. He also loved to give a huge amount of leeway in some areas and be strict as a school ma’am in others. If he wanted word for word in the last scene, fine. There was usually some secret plan in the works that only Mark knew about. Even Sue has learned to just go with it.

“So this kiss, then,” Benedict asked, “I assume the BBC have approved it? I mean, it’s not exactly been done too many times before.” Martin shifted uncomfortably.

“One executive has been approached,” Mark replied, sharing a glance with Steven. “He’s approved it, with the usual provisos.”

“We still want our PG rating, so nothing too over the top.” Mark said mock severely, and everyone had a giggle, though Martin’s seemed a bit forced. The meeting broke up then, but Benedict grabbed Martin before he could leave. When they were alone, he said quietly, “Are you okay with this? Seriously.”

Martin had stared up for a long moment, before pasting a smile on his face and answering, “Yeah, of course. Just a job right?”

Benedict nodded, unconvinced. “Sure. No big deal.”

Martin threw him another tight smile and left. Benedict sighed. This was going to be tough, and he had no idea why Martin was behaving this way. When it came down to it, Benedict trusted Martin, but it sat uncomfortably with him that his friend was uneasy about such an important scene.

And now, Benedict was arriving at the Baker Street set. It looked a little different, he thought, walking through it to familiarise himself with the changes. After the explosion of series 4 there’d been the opportunity to redecorate, and Arwyn had gone to town. There was also some baby paraphernalia around, just enough to remind everyone that a small child lived there too. Ben smiled as he saw the skull, the knife holding letters to the new mantelpiece. He’d spent more time here than in a lot of his own flats, over the years, and it was a little bit like coming home.

“It’s like coming home almost, isn’t it?” Martin’s voice sounded behind him. Benedict jumped, then turned to look at him.

“John,” he greeted him in Sherlock’s voice. Martin gave a brief smile. Right, so he was close to character already, Benedict saw. This scene was emotional and tense, and Martin often dropped himself close to the level he needed so that his roller-coastering emotions didn’t drain him by the end of shooting.

“So you’re going to end up over there?” Benedict clarified, pointing at a spot near the door.

“Yeah, John’s just come in, he doesn’t want to go too far, but he’s drawn to Sherlock.” Martin said.

“Sherlock gets up from his chair when John comes in, I assume there’ll be a two shot?” Martin nodded, glancing at the two cameras they’d shoot the scene with simultaneously, capturing the expressions on both men’s face. Benedict continued, “Sherlock moves to about here,” he stopped halfway to the door, “then stops. He’s too hesitant, the rest is up to you. I mean, John.” Benedict corrected himself, though Martin looked a little stricken by the error.

“Right.” Martin agreed. He closed his eyes for a moment, and Benedict could practically see him pulling himself together, pushing down whatever it was that was blocking him from doing this. When he opened them, his eyes settled on Benedict and he smiled, a genuine smile, and Benedict returned it, grateful that Martin seemed to be back on board.

“Let’s do it, then.” Martin said, and Benedict agreed, the butterflies taking flight again.


	3. The Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today's the day...

It had been a shit morning already, Martin thought. It was lucky that John was in a mood, the air tense between he and Sherlock. It made Martin’s terse, closed demenour seem in character, thankfully. His shoulders were tense, hands grasping like John’s did when he was emotional. The irony of that was not lost on him, and he managed a wry smile. He and Benedict had gone over the scene briefly, but it was not easy. Even then, his mind filled in all the gaps they’d not covered – the way Sherlock would look at John; how Benedict’s eyes would change, the whirl of colour spinning as John moved closer; how John’s hand would slide up his shirt, Martin’s fingers against Benedict’s skin… he shook his head. Even he was getting them confused now, Sherlock and Benedict, Martin and John. Martin wanted to scrub his face, but refrained; the hair and makeup girls would kill him if they had to repair all that work.

“Martin?” Jess’ voice echoed into the darkness where he’d been hiding, if he was honest to himself.

“Yeah, I’m coming.” He called back. A shiver of apprehension ran through him, and he took a deep breath, readying himself for this trial.

Walking onto the set, Martin smiled fleetingly at a few of the crew. It was a skeleton crew, he saw. Typical Steven, he thought. The less people who know what happens, even with confidentiality agreements, the better. Benedict was there already, pacing, halfway to Sherlock already, Martin could see. He relaxed when he spotted Martin, for whom everyone was clearly waiting.

“Okay then?” Mark said, joining them. Benedict looked at him questioningly, and Martin nodded firmly. He’d tried hard to shed the morose shade to his mood, and he was conscious of it again now.

Squaring his shoulders, he said to both Benedict and Mark, “Let’s do it then, shall we?”

Mark grinned at him, and left the set. Benedict moved close to Martin, murmuring, “Alright?” The latter nodded, not quite meeting Benedict’s eye before moving to the stairs and his starting position. Martin felt a little guilty but he quashed the sensation. Today had to be about protecting himself, even if he did singe his relationship with Benedict in the process.

Martin heard the usual noises as the set settled down for the shoot. He concentrated, sinking into John’s character as he heard the call of, “Action!” Stomping up the stairs, John burst into the room, his words pouring out as Sherlock turned in surprise at his entry. On his best days, Martin often found that he couldn’t remember much after a scene, when he immersed himself in his role; today was not one of those days. Martin remained, albeit on the sidelines, as John spoke to Sherlock. Their conversation was intense, with long charged silences. Finally, the atmosphere strung tighter than a violin’s bowstring, John locked eyes with Sherlock. The moment had arrived, and Martin was nervous, though John was calm. He moved forward as Sherlock hesitated, John’s hand sliding up over Sherlock’s neck to pull him down so they could kiss. Benedict would not yield, however, and Martin, annoyed at the deliberate mutiny, jumped up, pressing their lips together to the startled burst of laughter from the unprepared crew.

“You arse.” Martin muttered to Benedict, who was grinning broadly. It was exactly the sort of thing Martin would have done in the earlier series, to break the tension of a scene before they reshot it several times over. He glared at Benedict, though not convincingly, because Benedict’s eyes were laughing as he apologised. They reset, running the scene again, until again, John’s hand slid up over Sherlock’s lapel, a slight pressure on his neck encouraged him to duck down. He acquiesced this time, Martin relieved and wound tight with anticipation, but as soon as their lips met, Benedict broke into giggles, shattering the sharp tension. John dissolved as Martin threw his hands up in exasperation, turning his back on Benedict in frustration. Each time they didn’t get the shot his anxiety grew, and he didn’t know how long he would be able to hide it.

Martin left Benedict to his laughter and sought out Mark. “Can we move this along now?” he asked tersely. Mark frowned, but Martin pressed the point. “Look, we don’t need to reshoot the build-up, these shots were solid. Let’s just shoot from that last line to the end of the scene.” Mark appeared uncertain, but then looked hard at Martin and seemed to read his anxiety.

“Alright.” Mark said, “Get Benedict under control, though will you?”

Martin rolled his eyes, striding back on set. As soon as Benedict saw him, his laughter broke out again, and Martin kept moving past him, slouching in John’s chair to wait for Benedict to regain his composure. Slowly, Benedict calmed down, Martin having closed his eyes to avoid everybody else. When he could hear that Benedict had control of himself again, Martin opened his eyes and looked up.

“You ready?” Martin asked, and Benedict nodded. Martin could see in his eyes he was ready this time.

“We’re going from the last, ‘Sherlock’, then the kiss.” Martin told Benedict. He looked surprised, but  nodded, moving to the spot he’d been using as a guide for Sherlock.

Martin took a deep breath, searching for John. It was more difficult this time, but finally John was leaning against the desk, looking at Sherlock. Martin was even more present than last time, barely concealed beneath the veneer of John.

“Sherlock,” John sighed, closing the gap between himself and Sherlock. Those eyes, Martin thought, allowing the emotion to flicker across John’s face as he tried once again to catalogue the colours within. This time Martin couldn’t tell if it was his hand or John’s that slid up the chest in front of him. As his fingers crossed the threshold between fabric and skin, his fingers brushing silky warmth, a shiver ran through Martin, though it would appear to be John. Nothing could have stopped those fingers pulling against that neck, encouraging the dark curls to lower themselves. Before his eyes fluttered closed Martin saw Sherlock dissolve, Benedict appearing in a flash of confusion as Martin’s lips found his. Too professional to react, Martin could feel the tension in Benedict’s lips signal his initial resistance. As they sank into the kiss, Martin felt Benedict relax into it. Unsure if it was Benedict or Sherlock, Martin dared not break it off. The kiss went on, lips moving over one another, hands clutching and when Benedict’s lips parted, his open mouth allowed his tongue to tentatively brush against Martin’s lips. Martin gasped – they had not discussed this, it was wildly inappropriate in the usual kissing scenario, but this was far removed from the usual. He knew without looking now that this was Benedict kissing Martin, and that Sherlock and John had both evaporated long ago. Benedict was deepening the kiss, encouraging it, knowing that it was Martin and not John. The knowledge that this was happening clouded all other thoughts from Martin’s mind, and he too parted his lips, allowing his tongue to tangle with Benedict’s.

He dimly head a voice speaking, but it wasn’t until a booming shout of, “Cut!” that they realised their surroundings and let go of each other, breathless. Panting hard, Martin stared at Benedict, whose eyes were wide with disbelief and confusion. Martin wondered if his hearing was gone, the silence was so profound. It stretched out long and tense like taffy, until Mark finally broke it.

“And that’s morning tea.” A titter ran through the crowd, and Mark spoke again, louder this time. “Break! Now! Go!” The crew, sparse as they were, took several long minutes to clear the space until only Martin and Benedict remained with Mark. As the others left they had stood perfectly still, not looking at each other, neither breaking whatever it was that bound them at that moment. Martin’s heart was racing almost as fast as his mind, which had a thousand questions, not the least of which was, ‘Who was kissing me, Sherlock or Benedict?’ Martin wanted confirmation, and he couldn’t look into Benedict’s eyes to see the truth. He could sense the unrest in Benedict, the rigidity in his muscles as his mind fought with his responses. Or was it his discomfort at knowing it was Martin and not John doing the kissing?

Mark stepped across the equipment towards Benedict and Martin, his face showing his bewilderment. “I have no idea what that was,” he said, voice full of concern, “but I suggest you both take the afternoon to figure it out.” He looked worried about them both, Martin thought absently. He nodded once, acknowledging Mark. As he left, Mark spoke again. “I’ll cancel the afternoon’s schedule. I’m going to hush this up as much as I can while you figure yourselves out. They’re all under confidentiality anyway.” Mark shot them both one last look of concern before he strode out, making his way to the mess tent to put the fear of God into the crew.


	4. Awkward Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benedict and Martin need to talk, obviously.

The silence fell again as Mark left, Martin and Sherlock left standing in the middle of the Baker Street set. It was a little Meta, Benedict thought absently, standing in Baker Street dressed as Sherlock, staring at the man dressed in John’s clothes, neither wanting to be the first to speak after their kiss. Martin still wouldn’t meet his eyes, and Benedict took a deep breath, trying to still both his brain and his breathing. God, it was just like being Sherlock, he thought with a burst of desperation.

“So…” Benedict said, not able to stand the silence for a second longer. He was confused, the scene had not gone even close to plan. He’d deliberately foiled John’s attempt to kiss him on the first take, figuring that the laughter would alleviate some of the tension that was still running like a thread between him and Martin. He’d been unable to stop his giggles later, however, and Martin had been understandably frustrated. Benedict had worked hard to quell his slightly hysterical response, pulling Sherlock around himself firmly, knowing that the time for levity was over. Martin had taken a few moments to find John, but even when they did start the scene again, he wasn’t entirely convincing – the shadow of Martin was still there. Benedict had felt Sherlock slipping as he saw John crumble to dust, leaving a Martin in his place bearing the same heart wrenching longing in his eyes. As Martin had touched him, Sherlock had dropped away, and it was Benedict who closed his eyes as Martin’s lips met his. He’d kissed lots of people in his job, hopefully convincingly even if he had not exactly enjoyed all the experiences. This, though, was more like a real first kiss, hesitant and careful, and Benedict, who knew Martin so well, could feel his energy rather than John’s. This was Martin, kissing Benedict, and it felt amazing. Without considering anything else, Benedict parted his lips, tentatively pressing the tip of his tongue to the seam of Martin’s lips. He felt Martin’s response, and the kiss deepened. Who knew how long it would have lasted if they hadn’t been on a film set, in front of a dozen people, two cameras tracking their every move?

Now, though, they stood alone on the set, no choice but to face whatever this was. Benedict dropped into Sherlock’s chair, mind still trying to accept that Martin had kissed him, and he had kissed back. Where had that response come from? Benedict had no idea, but he knew there was no possibility of ignoring it. Apart from the fact that they had to work closely together for the next few weeks, Benedict could feel Martin withdrawing into himself, and he was worried that their still strained friendship would not survive this without some careful deliberation. Martin didn’t seem too enthusiastic about starting the conversation, so Benedict took it upon himself.

“That was confusing.” Benedict said, his quiet voice filling the space. He’d chosen his tone carefully – not accusatory, nor angry, but as neutral as he could manage. Martin didn’t respond. His face was shifting as he fought some combination of emotions Benedict couldn’t identify.

He tried again. “Was that you or John there?”

Martin twitched, then muttered bitterly, “Would it matter?”

Benedict blinked. “Of course it would.”

“Why?” Martin’s question was direct, and he turned now to look at Benedict, their eyes locking. “Why would it matter?”

Benedict took a deep breath. One way or another, their relationship rested on this conversation. “Because it wasn’t Sherlock, Martin.”

Martin considered the statement, his teeth worrying at his lower lip.

Benedict could see that this wasn’t a shock to him – he must have seen Sherlock fade out, just as Benedict had seen John go, right before they kissed.

Martin finally spoke. “What do you mean?”

“I could see that it wasn’t really John in that last take. God, Martin, how much time have we spent together? How many hours talking about John and Sherlock, blocking out their scenes, working out their relationship? And you think I might not know the difference between John and Martin when you’re that close to me?” He sounded a little hurt, he realised, but that was accurate. He and Martin had been so close, and he didn’t really understand what had happened to change that. Ever since they’d spoken again after reading the first script for series 5, it hadn’t been the same, and for a long time before that, really. He was hurt, he realised, and a little resentful that Martin had not seemed to notice or care that things were different.

“So…that wasn’t Sherlock?” Martin asked cautiously.

Benedict shook his head.

“It wasn’t John either.” Martin admitted quietly. The quiet seemed conversely loud now to Benedict, his own blood rushing in his ears as he considered the implications of this confession. It explained so many things, he thought, from a long time ago right up to Martin’s tense demenour this morning.

“How long?” Benedict asked, and Martin seemed to sag, a strain coming off his shoulders. He’d been carrying this for a while, Benedict could see, this weight he could share with nobody else.

“Series 3, more or less.” Martin’s voice was quiet and resigned.

Benedict was silent, still processing. This was too important to rush. “Look,” he said carefully. “Mark’s given us the day off, basically. I need to think for a while, get my head around some stuff.” Martin nodded, and Benedict thought he looked miserable. With a start, he made a Sherlock-esque leap of deduction.

“I’m not angry, Martin.” Benedict told him, “At the moment I’m confused and I need some time to figure out where I’m at.”

Confusion overtook the misery on Martin’s face. “So…What are you saying, then?” he asked.

Benedict sighed. “That you kissed me, Martin, and I kissed you back, and I haven’t figured out anything else around that, but I need to.” He rose from Sherlock’s chair and stood near Martin, awkward in Sherlock’s suit.

“Let’s meet this late this afternoon, then. I can get that great Mexican place to deliver to my flat and we can get a bit drunk and talk about tomorrow, when we’re gonna need to be able to keep shooting this bloody action romance Mark has roped us into.”

Martin grinned the tiniest bit at this, and Benedict felt relief flood him so he spoke again.

“Okay, come over whenever. But get changed, for God’s sake, this is already too Meta without John and Sherlock having dinner.” His further attempt at humour was rewarded with another flash of a smile from Martin, and Benedict left, confused as hell but at least confident that Martin was going to be okay for the next ten hours or so.


	5. Dancing Around It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin and Benedict meet to discuss the thing, but neither is really prepared to kick off the conversation.

Martin had no idea what to do with himself for the rest of the day. There had been no mention of a specific time that evening at Benedict’s place, but he assumed 6pm would be the earliest he should arrive. He took himself back to his trailer, avoiding everyone he saw until he could close the door behind him. A shower and out of John’s clothes first, Martin thought to himself. At least then he’d feel more like himself. As he washed the makeup off, an odd thought occurred to Martin. He’d kind of assumed that he would end up having a good wank right about now, having kissed Benedict several times over then been freed for the day. Yet here he was, a roiling mass in his belly as he ignored his own emotional response to the train wreck that had just occurred. He ignored it a little longer, dressing in his own clothes before cracking a beer and slumping onto the bed. Finally, he allowed himself to examine again the scenes that had just taken place.

The kiss itself had been amazing, of that there was no doubt. Benedict had been kissing him, he’d said so clearly as they talked afterwards. So where on earth had that come from? Had Benedict been harbouring feelings for him too? It hadn’t been that long since the news that Benedict and Sophie were going their separate ways, but Martin had no idea why that might be. They’d not been close when he’d heard, and Martin didn’t want to come across as trolling for gossip. He had sent one message, something like “Heard about you and Sophie, hope you’re okay”, but Benedict hadn’t replied, and Martin had not expected him to, knowing how hard the press could be to deal with when something like that became public, as well as his own well being, and the kids of course. Realistically, Benedict was probably wondering what was going on with Martin anyway – he knew things had been different lately, he’d been less open, mainly as a self-preservation attempt. Working closely again with Benedict had only strengthened his attraction, and Martin had been careful to keep him at arm’s length. So after all that, why had Benedict kissed Martin back? Martin shook his head, taking a long draught of his beer as he thought. Benedict would have to figure himself out, and Martin had no idea how that would go. He needed to get things clear in his own head today so that whatever happened this evening, he would know where he stood.

+++

Martin stood nervously at Benedict’s door, counting to ten before he knocked firmly. The door opened and Benedict was there, dressed in old jeans and a loose faded shirt, the sleeves buttoned at the wrists.

He looked amazing, Martin thought, swallowing. Martin smiled a little tightly and raised the beer he’d brought. “In the spirit of getting a bit drunk.” He said, and Benedict grinned at him, seemingly at ease, offering him entry.

Martin knew the layout of the house well, it had been their main residence when Benedict and Sophie were married. He followed Benedict into the kitchen, where Benedict stowed the beer except for two bottles he opened, passing one to Martin.

“Cheers,” Benedict said, and they clinked their bottles, both drinking.

“So what did you do today?” Benedict asked, as they moved to crash on the sofas. Benedict was barefoot, and Martin slipped off his own shoes so he could mirror Benedict, sitting with his feet up at one end of the comfortable sofa. The room had been arranged so two people could do this, he remembered, the sofas at an odd angle except when each was occupied by someone relaxing like this. The memory made him smile a little.

“The sofas are in the same place.” Martin said, relaxing into the cushion at his back.

“Same sofas.” Benedict replied.

“Yeah, I remember.” Martin told him, and a contemplative silence fell.

“Um, today I just hung out at home,” Martin answered Benedict’s earlier question. “Kids are staying mainly with Amanda while we’re filming, but I did have lunch with them at that awful American style hamburger place in Paddington, do you know it?”

Benedict wrinkled his nose. “Olivia loves it, it’s terrible, right?”

Martin agreed, and they talked a little about their kids, the challenge of feeding them healthy food they would actually consent to eat. When the conversation trailed off they both laughed a little, the noise fading after a moment. Martin picked at the label on his beer, not wanting to start the conversation they needed to have. He could see Benedict was fiddling with the condensation beading on his own beer, a clear tell for his nerves.

With a sigh, Martin drained his beer. “I’m not drunk enough to talk about this morning yet,” he informed Benedict, who finished his own beer, passing the bottle to Martin, who passed over one of the fresh bottles he had fetched from the fridge as he spoke.

“Me either.” Benedict agreed fervently, and they gave each other wry smiles, all but sculling their beers.

“We should order food before we drink anymore,” Martin suggested.

Benedict grinned, swallowing the beer he’d just taken into his mouth. “Already done. I wasn’t sure how fast we’d be drinking but I assumed that earlier was better. It’ll be here in” he checked his watch, “about half an hour.”

“I hope you got those enchiladas, they were amazing.”

“I ordered the usual, what we used to order.”

Another short, slightly stilted conversation, this time about the food, if it was the same, other places they’d tried that hadn’t measured up.

“So they started taking advance orders, which is great when I want to order before I leave the set.” Benedict concluded.

“Perfect.” Martin nodded. “One more beer, then, before we dive into this?” It was odd, he thought, as he waited for Benedict to finish his beer before he retuned their empties to the sink, that they could be having such a normal, unemotional conversation about the bizarre, emotional conversation that was sure to follow. He would rather they talk about something else, just until the beer kicked in a little more. Almost everything lead back to this morning, or the changed nature of their friendship over the years, or Benedict and Sophie’s divorce. None of those were conversations to be had while completely sober. Funnily enough, the kiss this morning really needed to be their first conversations, lest it overshadow any other topic they chose.

Martin sat again on his sofa, this time feet on the floor, elbows leaning on his knees. He held his beer by the neck, the bottle hanging between his shins. He watched it swing, feeling the alcohol finally start to relax him. Martin knew that no matter the outcome of this conversation, he and Benedict would have to finish at least this season of _Sherlock_. There would be no leaving here and never seeing each other again; apart from the shooting schedule, there would be publicity to navigate. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to hear a rejection, however gentle. The only thing worse would be going back to not knowing, and that was a personal brand of hell he was not prepared to revisit, no matter the heartache that might await him. He took a deep breath, blurting out, “So. This morning then.” He looked up and could see Benedict inhale slowly. He was sitting in a similar position to Martin, looking at down at his own feet.

Finally, he looked up, meeting Martin’s eyes, his expression serious. “Yes. This morning.”


	6. Finally, The Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benedict and Martin come to an agreement on how they will move forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response to this has been amazing - thanks to everyone who has commented here and on Facebook! The story has a bit to go and I'll be slowing down a little, two chapters a day is kinda crazy and not really sustainable. Don't worry, I won't forget about it!
> 
> <3

Benedict’s heart was fluttering as Martin finally started the conversation they were here to have. He’d done the minimum possible before leaving the set this morning, coming home and staying in while his brain whirred through a thousand and one thoughts. Now, though, the time for introspection was over. He and Martin were going to talk, and whatever the outcome, they were going to work together for at least the next few weeks. He just hoped that he could express himself clearly enough for Martin to appreciate his meaning, even if his words were not the clearest. Taking a deep breath, Benedict spoke. “Should I go first or do you want to say something?”

Martin shook his head, waving his hand to say, ‘you go first.’

Benedict nodded. He paused, and rubbed one hand over his face. “After all the time I spent thinking about this today, you’d think I had figured out what I wanted to say. It’s all so jumbled up.” He paused again, glancing again at Martin, whose face was impassive. No clue as to his inner thoughts. Right, onwards then, Benedict thought. “I’ve never dated a man, never kissed a man in my personal life, probably would have done a John Watson and informed anyone who’d asked that I wasn’t gay.” Martin didn’t crack a smile at this weak joke, so Benedict pressed on. “But what I can’t deny is that I felt something when you kissed me.”

Martin nodded slowly. “So what does that mean? I mean…” he paused. Benedict could see him wrestling with something, which became evident when he blurted out, “Does that mean you are interested in seeing where it could go, you and me? Or that you enjoyed it but you don’t want to do it again? Or…I don’t have a third option, I don’t think.” He stopped, his head lowering, face blushing red at revealing so much of himself. His voice betrayed his anxiety at finally being in a position to hear the answer to a question that must have been torturing him for a long, long time.

“I don’t not want to,” Benedict said carefully. “What I was going to say was, we will be seeing each other a lot while _Sherlock_ shoots. We need to catch up on a lot, Martin, from the last years.” He meant more than just ‘how do you get you kid to eat broccoli’, and he could see that Martin understood. Benedict needed to hear why Martin had been distancing himself, though this morning’s conversation had explained some of it. He was also offering something of himself – the break up with Sophie had been highly publicised by intensely private, and Martin did not know how much of it concerned him. Once Benedict had told him, though, it would help Martin understand, in part, why Benedict was so calm when Martin kissed him.

“We need to catch up,” Benedict repeated himself, “and get to know each other again. I don’t know if I want to jump into something with you because I don’t really know you like I used to, Martin. We’ve fallen into an easy working rhythm again, and I could obviously tell the difference between you and John, but I want to see if our friendship is still solid before I can commit to anything else.”

Martin thought about this. He nodded slowly, saying, “That sounds fair. So we should have another conversation after the wrap party?” As Benedict nodded, the doorbell rang.

“Dinner?” he asked, the old line from early _Sherlock_ another in joke between them.

“Starving.” Martin said, and they smiled at the old memory.

Ten minutes later they were sitting next to each other on the floor at the coffee table, plates spread all over the table as they attacked the food, fresh beer at their elbows.

“So,” Martin asked, mouth full of beans and tomatoes, “Just to be totally clear on this, we’re ‘friends’, right, until after the wrap party, when we’ll talk again?” He chewed and swallowed, looking at Benedict. Benedict’s eyes watched as he licked at the sauce on his upper lip, missing most of it.

“Kind of.” Benedict agreed. Without warning, he brushed the pad of his thumb against Martin’s lip, wiping the sauce away. Martin’s eyes widened at the touch, and Benedict took his thumb back to his own mouth, sucking the sauce off. His own heart was thumping at the action, and it really hit him, despite all the ideas and plans, that he was now thinking of Martin in an entirely different light.

“I think,” Benedict said, his voice rougher than it had been, “that what I really mean is, as far as anyone else is concerned, we are friends.” Martin nodded, his eyes still on Benedict’s mouth.

“And us?” Martin asked quietly.

“I have no idea, but I suspect it’s not entirely friends. I just need to…to not commit for a bit, you know? God, that sounds awful.” Benedict said, burying his face in his hands, the charged environment dissipating. “I’m not explaining myself very well.” He took a deep breath, grateful that Martin was giving him space to figure it out. “I’d like to…date you, I suppose is the right word. Get to know you, and see if we work together well, with no pressure and no expectations. We could just jump into it, but we both know what would happen if it became public, and I don’t want that kind of pressure on either of us, or on whatever we could be.” He paused again, mentally reviewing what he’d said. Yes, that seemed right. He’d been looking at his plate this whole time, not wanting to be distracted by any reaction from Martin, but now he screwed up his courage to look at Martin.

“What do you think?” Benedict asked quietly. Martin was looking at him thoughtfully, considering his words. Benedict’s heart was pounding again, and he took a drink of his beer, more for something to do than for any other reason.

“I think, again, that that’s actually a good idea.” Martin’s voice was amused.

Benedict frowned a little. “What?”

Martin was grinning now. “That’s what you said the first time, Benedict, and I told you I agree. I was asking if we were friends as far as everyone else is concerned.”

“Oh. Good. Yes.” Benedict replied, relieved. They grinned at each other again, finally understanding.

“Right,” Martin said, “So two things we do have figure out tonight are, what do we say to Mark, who will certainly have told Steven and probably Sue what happened, and do we need to reshoot that scene so they can actually use the footage?”

Benedict was eating now, having paused to think and then speak. He nodded in agreement with Martin, who went on as Benedict continued to eat.

“Have you spoken to Mark?”

Benedict shook his head.

“Me either. Figured I should talk to you first.” They shared a look, the kind of look you’d share with a partner, Benedict thought, when you wanted to communicate silently. It was nice, he realised. The tentative smile appeared on both faces at once, and Benedict dropped his fork to reach for Martin’s hand, gripping it briefly before returning to his meal. Martin blushed, his smile widening.

Benedict cleared his throat, then said, “I doubt Mark is going to want to know any details, to be honest. He’s probably just going to want to know if we’re both still committed to _Sherlock_.”

“Yeah. Should we call him now?”

Benedict nodded, reaching for his phone. He dialled Mark, putting it on speaker phone on the table. They glanced at each other as it rang, another self-conscious smile, and Martin wiggled his fingers a little, an invitation. Benedict interlaced his fingers, allowing the shiver that scrolled up his spine to show. Martin’s smile broadened, and Benedict couldn’t help but notice how the deep lines around his eyes accentuated their ocean colour.

“Hi, Ben.” Mark’s voice answered.

“Hi, Mark. Martin’s here too.” Benedict said, and Martin squeezed his fingers. Benedict felt his mouth turn up, but he focussed on the phone.

“Hi, Martin.”

“Mark.”

“We called to assure you that we’ll be on set tomorrow as usual. Just let me know when you need me to make up the time from today. Oh, and if we need to reshoot anything from this morning.” Benedict tried to be as succinct as possible, knowing Mark would have been on edge all day waiting to hear from him.

They both heard Mark exhale a relieved breath. “Great. Thanks for letting me know.” There was a pause, then he added carefully, “Can I assume you’ve figured out whatever it was that happened this morning?”

“Yep.” Benedict answered, feeling a giggle build up as he caught Martin’s eye.

“Fine. Okay, no problem.” Mark answered, and Benedict could hear his curiosity and restraint.

“See you tomorrow, then.” Benedict said. Mark hung up before Martin burst into laughter, Benedict following suit.

“Oh, he was dying to ask!” Martin laughed.

Benedict looked at him, laughing with such abandon, and felt something shift a little inside himself. This would be an interesting few weeks, he thought, and the bubble of optimism would not be quashed, no matter how severely he admonished it.


	7. New Territory and Old Routines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin and Benedict are back on set. Louise and Martin talk.

Martin stretched, taking the quiet moment to himself before he stepped out of his car. He’d deliberately left Benedict’s place early-ish last night, downed a bucket load of water and some aspirin and gone to bed. Sleep had not been easy to come by lately, and the alcohol combined with the knowledge that he and Benedict had come to a tentative agreement, along with his chronic insomnia allowed him to fall asleep quickly. He’d woken feeling refreshed, and it had taken a few moments before he really knew why. _Benedict and I might be…_ his brain reminded him, and Martin’s face split into a wide grin.

“Fucking awesome.” He muttered to himself, before a quick shower. He made his way to the lot, planning on eating breakfast in hair and makeup as usual. His trailer and Benedict’s were next to each other, and he could see that he’d beaten Benedict in; Martin hadn’t wanted to text him this morning, uncharacteristically shy about crowding Benedict, especially when he’d just explained how carefully he wanted to take these next few weeks. Martin put his coat down in his trailer and got changed into John’s clothes. He was just about to head over to hair and makeup when a knock at his trailer made his heart skip. Was that Benedict? He answered, and the face grinning up at him was indeed Benedict’s.

“Morning.” Benedict said.

“Morning.”  Martin replied. He could see that Benedict was halfway to Sherlock, the costume in place and a glint in his eye reminiscent of the detective, already.

“Coming?” Benedict asked. In earlier series, they had often wandered over together in the morning, and Martin realised that Benedict was serious about them getting back to some of their old routines. That was good, he told himself. Damn it, I should have texted him this morning. They’d sent hundreds back in the early days, about every aspect of their day, driving each other up the wall sometimes. Martin grinned at the memory, and Benedict caught his smile.

“What?” Benedict asked.

“Just remembering the early series. Remember that bagel?”

Benedict frowned a moment, then his face cleared. “The bagel! We hid him all over the place and sent each other clues to find him. I remember that!” Benedict’s face had lit up, and Martin fought to keep his expression neutral, though he was savouring every second of it. They talked more as their hair and makeup were completed – nothing dramatic today, just the usual, then wandered back to Martin’s trailer. Benedict came inside, cradling his coffee, which they’d picked up on the way back.

Closing the door, Benedict turned to Martin. “You okay this morning?”

Martin grinned back at him, no holds barred. “Perfect.” He replied, allowing his happiness to shine.

Benedict relaxed, and it was only them that Martin realised how tense he had been. “You didn’t message me this morning, I wondered if things were okay.”

Martin’s smile grew teasing. “A little co-dependant, aren’t we?”

Rolling his eyes, Benedict replied, “Given how many texts we used to send, I think one, ‘good morning’ wasn’t too much to ask for.”

Martin nodded. “Sorry. Yeah, I wasn’t, um, sure if I should.” He winced a little at his uncertain tone. He wanted to be honest with Benedict, to be as open as they once had been, but it was going to be something to work at – there had been a lot of practice at showing the right face, rather than his real face, and it would take effort to break that habit.

“You always should, I think.” Benedict said, his smile softer. “I think that should be our rule. If in doubt, do it.”

Martin raised his eyebrows. “Do you want to think that one through at all?”

Benedict did, and Martin crossed his arms, watching Benedict’s face change at the exact moment he realised the extra meaning that could be taken from his words.

“And there it is.” Martin said. “Having said that…” He took a breath, then a step closer to Benedict, moving into his personal space in the cramped trailer. Martin raised his eyebrows as he turned his face up to Benedict, who now understood what he was doing. He lowered his head, closing his eyes as Martin kissed him for the first time without a film crew to memorialise the moment. It was chaste, certainly more so than yesterday, but this held more meaning. This time, they both knew it was them and not their characters, and it was the first time they had consciously moved to press their lips together, seeking that contact. After a moment, Martin lowered himself, breaking the contact. He smiled, the action gaining surety as he saw it mirrored on Benedict’s face.

“Good morning.” Benedict murmured, and Martin nodded.

“Do you think the crew are going to be weird today?” Martin asked, sitting down across from Benedict. They’d hang out here until they were called, anywhere from five minutes to half an hour, depending on the technical readiness of the set.

Benedict frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Well, after yesterday, they saw us kiss, which was not only on their sheets but was probably not really the way it would have gone anyway…” Martin paused as they shared a self-conscious smile, “then they get sent to lunch, Mark comes and threatens them and their firstborns if they so much as breathe a word of it, and they get the rest of the day off.” Martin stopped, having outlined the morning according to the crew.

Benedict thought for a long moment. “I’d been thinking about that.” He said. “I think Mark probably didn’t threaten them, knowing him he would have let them in on ‘the big secret’, that John and Sherlock kiss, but they’re both pretty shocked afterwards. He’ll say something about this being a prank, or a setup for the DVD extras or a way to get extra footage to be leaked or something, you know how Moffatt controls the media in the run up to release.” Benedict shrugged. He didn’t seem bothered at all, Martin thought in amazement. God, to have his confidence.

“Right.” Martin replied, more to say something than for any other reason. It was likely that Mark’s ‘it’s all part of the show’ speech was delivered in such a way as to threaten bodily harm without actually threatening bodily harm. Even so…

“What is it?” Benedict asked.

Martin had to stop himself from saying, ‘nothing’, his usual response. Instead he took a deep breath and said, “I’m working hard not to shut you out, Benedict, but it’s been a long time since I’ve not filtered myself.” Martin paused, then added in a formal kind of voice, “I’m worried that if anything from yesterday gets out, even rumours, the press will kill us before we get a chance to see if we work.” His voice trembled a little, which he hated. “This is important to me, as you can probably tell.” He stopped, not sure what else he should say. He knew what he wanted to say – that he loved Benedict, wanted to whisk him away and pamper and worship him forever, was terrified that the press would hound the both of them to breaking point if they found out, and that all he wanted was a chance to show Benedict that he, Martin, could offer him something worth having. That he was second guessing every move, analysing every word before he spoke to be sure it was right, that it wouldn’t stuff things up or frighten Benedict away. He was incandescently happy and anxious beyond belief at the same time. None of those things were right, though, and Martin packed them away, perhaps forever.

Benedict was looking at Martin, his watercolour eyes seeming to read the expression on his face. “I know.” He said quietly. “Please don’t think I’m not taking this seriously, Martin.”

Martin nodded, and they sat in silence for a moment, the enormity of their undertaking sitting between them as a shared weight.

“So friends to the end, right?” Martin said in a faux cheery voice as a brisk knock and a voice called, “On set please Martin!”

“They’ll be looking for me.” Benedict replied, fist-bumping Martin’s proffered knuckles and rolling his eyes. “You’re so 2010, Martin Freeman.”

“Bite me, Big Ben.” Martin replied, pulling out one of his old insults. They exited the trailer together, ready for a day of shooting.

+++

“Martin?” A voice sounded behind him, and Martin turned.

“Lou!” he said, genuine pleasure in his voice. It had been an exhausting day in the end, having to reshoot the telephone scene from The Final Problem from a Mind Palace perspective. It was complicated, with himself, Benedict, Mark and Louise on set; Andrew had been smuggled in for his part, as had Sian. There had been new cameras and normal cameras and some very weird special effects, all along with the emotionally draining dialogue. Poor Louise and Benedict had been asked to mimic themselves-from-series-four as closely as possible, which made it even harder. Martin was very grateful it was done, even though the day had had been so long to fit it all in.

“Can I have a word?” Louise asked, her quiet voice hesitant. Martin nodded, his face suddenly a little guarded. He could feel it by the tightening of his eyes and lips, the muscles contracting automatically. Louise had been the only one who knew how he felt during series 3 and 4 – a natural confidante, she was empathetic and a good listener, and she always, always kept a secret. He’d spilled everything about himself and Amanda, even before the split, and then as he came to terms with his feelings for Benedict, all of that too.

“I saw the rushes from yesterday.” Lou said as soon as his trailer door was closed.

Martin nodded, deliberately not crossing his arms. She went on, “Sherlock and John, they seemed…”

“More like me and Benedict?” Martin asked, and he could read the relief in her body as he said the words before she had to.

“It was me and Benedict.” Martin told her straight out. Knowing her, she’d been stressing on this the whole day.

“It just happened, Lou, for both of us. Not just me. I mean, John was there, then he wasn’t, you know? I couldn’t keep hold of him, and Benedict saw it, I think, because Sherlock was gone, and it was me kissing Benedict, and he was kissing me back.” Louise was very still, and Martin knew she had questions.

“Mark sent us off to figure things out,” he said, hoping that some part of this was what she wanted to hear, “Benedict wanted time to think, so I left until dinnertime. We drank, we talked.” He took a deep breath, unable to keep the emotion from his voice at this part. “He wants us to see where we go, Lou. It’s all completely quiet, we hope, until we wrap. We’ll see where we are then.” He didn’t have to tell her that he would be in the same place, if not more in love, that it was actually up to Benedict to figure out if he wanted to be with Martin or not.

She nodded, though he could see reservations in her eyes. “Martin, that’s great, really, I just...don’t pin everything on this, okay? I mean, I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Martin stepped over and hugged her, and she hugged him tightly back. “Thanks, Lou. You’re the best.” He whispered, and she gripped John’s jumper, still on Martin’s frame.

“I’d tell you to be careful, but I can see that’s not going to happen. It’s too late for you, isn’t it?” Lou asked, and Martin didn’t even bother to reply. They both knew it was rhetorical. He’d been a hopeless case for years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Andrew = Andrew Scott (Moriarty)  
> Sian = Sian Brooke (Eurus)


	8. Making a Date for A Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin and Benedict's relationship progresses. Louise talks to Benedict.

“Come on, wakey wakey!” Benedict boomed, striding into Martin’s trailer. They’d both stayed over last night, the night shoot backing right into a late morning call. Much easier to crash here than to trek across town and back. Benedict was only just awake himself, but he’d gotten dressed-ish and sourced some decent coffee, and now he was here to wake Martin. It was almost an hour before he had to actually be up, but Benedict wanted to use the time constructively. He and Martin had been working hard to appear to be good friends, getting to know each other again after a hiatus, and that much was true. It was the rest that had to be hidden. They spent every spare moment together in either of their trailers, and the crew had learned that to find one was to find the other; they shifted their stars from door to door so the crew would know where to look. While they did spend the time running lines, discussing character motivations and acting choices, the fact that this was often done while spooning, or giving massages, or otherwise touching in a decidedly non-friends-type way, was not known to the cast. They’d been very careful to appear intense and focussed whenever they were talking on set, strengthening the idea that they were completely engrossed in creating the ultimate series of Sherlock. Thus, locking the trailer door was a logical extension of this idea, neatly preventing any accidental visitors.

It did make this time precious, Benedict knew, when the lot was quiet and it was almost guaranteed that nobody would disrupt them. He snuck in, knowing his voice would not have roused Martin. Benedict padded on socked feet into the bedroom, placed the coffees on the side table before ducking under the covers, making a big spoon for Martin’s curled form. Martin’s body seemed to fit perfectly as the small spoon in particular, Benedict’s longer frame wrapping around him. Their heartbeats would synchronise and they could have laid there for hours, Benedict thought.

“Morning.” Benedict repeated, this time whispering it into Martin’s ear. They had snuggled like this a few times, and Benedict had found them deeply emotionally satisfying experiences. Kisses and a lot of mostly chaste touching was as far as they had gone, sexually speaking; emotionally, though, Benedict wondered if he had had a connection like this with anyone. Certainly he and Sophie had been close; soul mates, he had thought for a long time. But they had never shared of themselves as he and Martin did; dissecting moments of their lives as they used to do, seeking emotional responses and digging into their true feelings with passionate vigour. He had loved Sophie, certainly, but this was different. The past days with Martin had certainly been amazing – they had quickly reverted to the way things had been in the early days, with three big exceptions. One – Martin hadn’t talked about what happened with Amanda; Two – Benedict hadn’t talked about what happened with Sophie; and Three – neither of them had talked about what happened between them. Benedict knew these were all important conversations, and he suspected they would all be connected to each other. The topics were too inter-related to separate into easy compartments.

But not this morning, he thought, burrowing his cold nose into Martin’s neck.

“Oi.” Martin’s voice was fuzzy with sleep.

Benedict grinned against his skin, kissing the cold spot where his nose had lain. “I’d apologise but we both know it would be a lie.”

Martin just grabbed his hands and snuggled down deeper into the warm blankets. For a few moments, it was bliss, Benedict thought, but he felt himself start to drift off and pulled himself out of it, knowing that there would be someone knocking on their door if they slept through.

“Come on, coffee’s waiting.” Benedict murmured in Martin’s ear, planting a kiss on his jaw, then sitting up and stretching his long arms.

Martin groaned. “What time is it?”

“Time to get up. Only half an hour til hair and makeup.” Martin nodded, accepting the cup Benedict passed him. He  blinked widely, trying to wake himself up.

“Sleep well?” Benedict asked, and Martin nodded as a huge yawn overcame him.

“I can see that.” Benedict added, and they grinned at each other. Both knew that the other had been up half the night texting, neither willing to stop for something as boring as sleep, despite their exhaustion.

“Mark’s not going to be happy with us.” Martin said, “I’ll need a tonne of makeup to deal with these eyes.”

Benedict hummed in agreement, touching his own face gingerly.

Martin rolled his eyes. “Oh give me a break, you’re still bloody gorgeous, for goodness sake.”

Batting his eyes dramatically, Benedict leaned over towards Martin. “Oh, I’m gorgeous, am I?” he asked.

“Of course you are, you complete arse.” Martin met him with a kiss, lips meeting and moving, but no more. They had a tacit agreement that this was the extent of their physical intimacy at the moment, for which Benedict was grateful. He was attracted to Martin, he could see that now, but he needed to see that their connection was more than physical. More and more it was revealing itself to him; all he needed now, really, was to have those conversations about the important events of their past few years.

“Martin?” Benedict asked after their kiss broke.

“Hmmm?” He replied, mouth full of coffee.

“Dinner tonight at mine?” There must have been a layer of something in his voice, because Martin looked at him for a long moment before agreeing soberly.

+++

“I’d forgotten about this.” Martin confided to Benedict as they walked over to the restaurant. The cast and crew dinner was traditional on the middle night of filming, and their attendance was expected. It irritated Benedict, who wanted to have a private conversation with Martin. Evenings were the only time they were able to do so without the possibility of being interrupted, and with the number of evening and night shoots on the schedule, there were not so many more opportunities before the wrap party. As his emotional attachment grew stronger, Benedict wanted to have those conversations with Martin so that they could move forward, whatever direction it was that they went.

“Me too.” Martin replied, pausing before they entered into the crowded space. It was unlikely they’d get much of a chance to chat tonight; both would be in high demand, and there were people here they did want, and need, to talk to. “Tomorrow night?” asked Martin, and Benedict nodded. He appreciated that Martin could sense his frustration. It was likely that Martin knew that Benedict was looking for a time for them to have a deep and meaningful, there were probably things he wanted to know about Benedict and Sophie, too. They’d just have to wait, Benedict told himself, shooting a smile at Martin before they opened the door, bracing against the wave of sound from inside. As they went to move in, Lou came out, catching Benedict’s arm. Martin moved in ahead of them as Lou held Benedict back.

“Hi.” He said, his tone questioning.

“Hi, Benedict.” She replied, and looking around, dragged him up the street a little and out of the light.

“Um, what are you doing?” Benedict asked, amused and puzzled. This was very unlike her. She didn’t seem drunk, so what was going on?

“Martin and I have been very close for a long time.” She began, looking supremely uncomfortable but determined. “He’s told me a lot about some difficult times in his life, and…” she trailed off, looking pleadingly at Benedict, willing him to understand before she had to speak.

He sighed. “You know, don’t you?”

She nodded, a tortured action, face twisted in anguish. “I’m sorry, Martin had told me ages ago about what was happening with him, and honestly, when I saw the rushes from that day, I went to see if he was okay.”

Benedict put one arm around her, pulling her into a hug. “Hey, hey, it’s fine, please don’t feel so bad.” He said soothingly. She was really upset that he’d be angry, he noticed. “Martin picks his friends well, Lou, and it’s not up to me who he confides in. I trust you, I mean you haven’t told anyone in the last however many years, have you?”

She shook her head adamantly.

“So why should that change?”

“It’s not just that.” She took a deep breath, wiping her eyes, then turning to look at Benedict, the best severe expression she could manage coming across her face. “Don’t you hurt him, Benedict Cumberbatch. He’s been through hell, what with all the stuff with Amanda and then figuring out where you fit into everything. You don’t have to love him, but be gentle with him, alright?”

Benedict smiled, then pulled her in for a proper hug. As they let each other go, smiling at each other as Lou wiped tears away, fireworks seemed to go off from the alleyway across the road. Benedict swore a little, automatically turning away and shielding Lou.

“Let’s head back inside, shall we?” He said, ignoring the paparazzo that was now taking non-stop pictures of them both. She nodded and they walked briskly back to the restaurant, the security now evident as the photographer had made himself scarce. Benedict dove into the mass of people, resigned to him fate for the evening. If he couldn’t have a quiet night in with Martin, he’d work this party like nobody’s business. He chatted to as many people as he could, joking with Rupert and several of the cameramen about the local football team’s woeful record. Before he knew it, Mark was tapping him on the shoulder and reminding him there was an early call in the morning. Grateful despite the good time he had had, Benedict bade farewell before Mark ushered him out to the waiting car.

“This is very Mycroft, Mark.” Benedict joked. The car was a black town car with heavily tinted windows, the exact thing Mycroft Holmes would have kidnapped people in had he been real.

“Thank me later, Benedict.” Mark said, holding the door, then slamming it behind Benedict. The car started moving as soon as the door was shut, and it took Benedict several seconds to register that there was someone else in the car with him.

“Martin!” he exclaimed in delighted relief. “I was worried I’d not be able to say goodnight.”

Martin grinned at him. “Mark arranged this car to drop us off at our respective flats. The driver is extremely discrete, which I think means ‘has signed a confidentiality waiver’.” He patted the seat next to him, and Benedict slid over, pressing their legs together and taking Martin’s hand.

“That was nice of him.” Benedict said. “How was your night?”

Martin reeled off a list of names of people he’d spoken to, and Benedict countered with his own. Between them they’d spoken to nearly everyone, which was good.

“Oh! And Lou cornered me as we arrived, too.” Benedict said, only remembering as he mentally rewound his way through the evening.

“She did? Why?”

“She gave me the, ‘don’t hurt him or I’ll have to hurt you’ speech.” Benedict grinned as Martin flushed.

“No way.”

“Well, less of the ‘I’ll hurt you’ and more of the ‘don’t hurt him’.” Benedict admitted. “She was a good choice, I’ve never had a clue she knew anything about what was happening with you.”

Martin nodded. “Lou’s been amazing. She’s been my counsellor, really, since the start.” They both broke off here, knowing they were about to start a conversation that they had neither the time nor the energy for this evening.

The car slowed, pulling up at Martin’s flat. He turned to Benedict, cupping his face before kissing him softly on the mouth. “Tomorrow evening? My place, beer, pizza?”

Benedict countered with, “Your place, Scotch, pizza.”

“Agreed.” They looked at each other for another long moment before Martin left the car, shutting the door before Benedict was whisked away to his own flat for the evening. One more day, Benedict thought. They just needed to get through one more day.

 


	9. What Happened With Amanda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin finally tells Benedict the story of what happened with Amanda.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where it starts getting a little difficult with timelines and who was where and why. I have done quite a bit of research and tried to make sure things more or less line up - but it's probably not perfect, and I'm fine with that. If you find something that's erroneous and it affects the plot, please do tell me, but if not, I'm blissful in my ignorance. Exactly perfect adherence to RL is not my goal here. As usual, thanks for reading! < 3

It had been an early call, and a lot of frustration for the day. Something about the lighting wasn’t right, and the director was not happy at all. Benedict and Martin, as well as Una and Layla, the little girl playing Rosie, along with Layla’s mother, had spent the better part of the day playing cards while the director and the lighting crew fussed with lights. Thank goodness the budget was so large, Martin thought, watching the two men standing in for himself and Benedict while they played with the lights. He had had a stuntman before, but a ‘stand in while they fix the lighting’ guy was new. It did allow him plenty of down time, but the tension on set was palpable. Martin and Benedict had texted a little that morning, but both were stilted and a little awkward, as they had been in person. It was almost like they were in limbo, waiting for the chance to talk tonight before they could resume normalcy. Their own tension, along with the lighting issues, made everyone a little uneasy, and when Sue Verdue finally just threw her hands up and sent everyone else home while the director, lighting crew and stand ins fixed whatever it was, Martin could have jumped with relief. As it was, he knew this meant the schedule would have to be tweaked, extra hours grabbed here and there to make up the time, but he didn’t care. He wanted to go back to his place and talk with Benedict, spill out all the things they’d kept from each other over the years, intentionally and otherwise. When Sue had sent them home, his eyes had found Benedict’s immediately, and they’d both had the same thought; _Let’s do this now_. Without speaking to each other, they said their farewells and made a beeline for their respective trailers, changing and showering as quickly as possible.

As a force of habit, Martin grabbed himself a cab, heading back and texting Benedict to let him know.

_Thanks for waiting, you enormous git. BC_

Martin rolled his eyes.

_Even you can find a cab, Benedict. Image, remember? MF_

They’d made a conscious decision to leave separately, even when they were heading to the same address; while it wouldn’t be uncommon for them to occasionally spend time together off the set, neither wanted to risk anyone seeing them leave together and make a deductive leap. Often, Benedict would have the cab drop him around the corner from Martin’s, pretending to look for his keys or check his phone while he waited for the cab to disappear, before walking to Martin’s house. It may have been paranoid, but it had worked, and they weren’t going to tempt the fates now. When Benedict had told him how he avoided the press, Martin had almost laughed until he considered what was at stake. Really, it wasn’t that inconvenient, and they had just a couple more weeks until the wrap party.

Martin’s cab dropped him off and he let himself into his flat, heart skipping a beat as he realised that Benedict would be here any minute. It was still quite early, too early for Scotch, surely, so Martin did what John would have done and made tea. By the time the water had boiled, there was a knock at his door, and he answered while it steeped. Benedict came in, adding his coat to Martin’s and following him to the kitchen.

“Seemed too early for Scotch.” Martin explained, doctoring their tea with milk and sugar and passing Benedict’s over. They watched the milk swirl, an awkward silence falling over the kitchen.

Martin cleared his throat. “Let’s not beat around the bush, shall we? We’re going to talk about all the big things today, I assume.”

Benedict nodded. “I think we should.”

Martin replied, “I agree.” He hesitated then offered, “Should I start with Amanda? It’s the first thing, chronologically, and it’s all mixed in so that might make sense.”

Benedict looked relieved, he thought as they moved to sit on the couch. Martin’s place was smaller than Ben’s, just a single couch. They sat at either end, tucking knees and feet under as they settled in. Martin considered the chronology, wondering where to start.

“Right. Okay. I’ll just monologue for a bit, I guess, feel free to interrupt me if you want.”

Benedict nodded but said nothing.

Martin took a deep breath and began. “Amanda and I never married, you know that. We’d never really talked about it seriously, it just wasn’t something that was important to either of us, I thought.” He paused and thought. “The travel I did for work, especially for the Hobbit, the filming and then all the promotion, the awards ceremonies and stuff – all that wasn’t something she dealt well with. It was like she wanted me to be successful, but only work in Britain, you know? She wasn’t comparing our careers, as she was all too happy to say, but _she_ never left the family for months at a time, and _she_ never attended big parties with all the glamorous people and left me all alone with the kids…” Martin trailed off. He didn’t want to misrepresent Amanda, but it was true that she’d resented the travel he had had to do for work. They’d talked a lot when he’d been offered the Hobbit, knowing it was a big decision, especially as series 1 of _Sherlock_ had just been shot and it was generating enough positive reviews that they wanted to confirm the shooting of the second series. He would be working solidly for over a year, part of it on the other side of the world, then he’d be busy with all the other non-filming bits, like publicity and the inevitable American awards season. He could understand why she had become resentful, but she’d known what it was when she’d told him he had to take the opportunity.

Martin sighed. “I know she knows the industry, but it wasn’t just that. I think I knew we weren’t made to be together forever, and that little seed of doubt stopped me from really talking to her about getting married. I was content enough, and I thought she was too.”

Benedict spoke into the silence. “It must have been really hard.”

Martin nodded, tears springing to his eyes. He looked down at his tea, blinking. He’d barely told a soul this story; only Lou knew all the details, and she’d lived it, rather than hearing about it in one narrative like this. “I was really happy to see you when you came to New Zealand, do you remember?”

Benedict smiled at the memory. “As I recall you practically jumped on me to say hi. My own pet hobbit.” He chuckled as Martin rolled his eyes.

“Make up was a bloody nightmare.” He recalled. “I so needed a friendly face, and I appreciated it. It was more than Amanda would do – she kept saying how it would be too disruptive for the kids to come and visit.” His face dropped again into sadness as he recalled the lonely nights, hoping to Skype during London time but rarely managing to catch anyone at a convenient time.

He sighed. “I don’t know if the Hobbit was too big a thing, but that was in 2012 when it wrapped up, and we did series 3 of _Sherlock_ in 2013. I was so relieved that Mary was written into it, I knew Mark and Steven had been thinking of it, I just didn’t know when. Amanda was good in that role, she really took it on. Things were actually okay during those weeks; I thought we might be getting back to a good place. She had some work lined up after and I didn’t have anything too much and I think that helped. By the time The Abominable Bride came around, though…” Martin’s voice trailed off yet again, and this time Benedict shifted. He took their mugs with half finished, lukewarm tea and placed them on the coffee table, then enveloped Martin in his long arms. The press of his chest against Martin’s cheek was warm and comforting, and he thought he would cry again at the simple comfort of it. He continued to speak, his voice muffled by Benedict’s jumper. “Amanda and I were fighting all the time, over the stupidest things. The kids were noticing, and no matter what I offered, Amanda refused to talk to someone, or even take our arguments away from the kids. I was glad the special was a short shoot. We were barely talking by then except about the kids. It took another year before we really talked – I brought the counsellor to her, since she wouldn’t come, and we finally got it all out there. Once we both agreed it was over, it was actually a relief. I’d been talking to Lou, of course, but knowing that Amanda and I were on the same page, it was like a release of all this tension I’d been carrying.” Martin stopped for a few long moments, concentrating on his breathing. He could hear Benedict’s heart beating, and the steady thud-thud-thud against his ear centred him.

“Eventually we talked with our publicists and decided to leave it until after series 4 was filmed – we knew she’d be in at least the first two episodes. I told Mark and Steven and Sue just so they would know ahead if rumours started or something. We managed it okay, I thought, we were both pretty professional. I hope.” Martin closed his eyes now, just enjoying being held by Benedict. He smelled good, and Martin wondered what scents he was identifying. Not that it mattered, he thought.

“So that’s more or less it.” Martin said, taking a deep breath and sitting up so he could look at Benedict. He threaded his own fingers through Benedict’s longer fingers, then brought his gaze up to meet Benedict’s. “Any questions?”

Benedict looked thoughtful as he tried to make sure he understood as much as possible of the complex story.

“How do I fit into all of that?”

Martin swallowed. “It’s all mixed in together. I thought I’d try and separate them a little at first. So, during series 3, I’d started talking to Lou. She’d been a bit worried after she’d seen a huge fight between Amanda and I at the end of series 2 filming. So I was talking to Lou, we were shooting series 3, and I was thinking Amanda and I might be actually getting back on track. I’d thought I would be happy about that but I wasn’t really. And then Lou got me to do a visualisation – ‘close your eyes and think about happiness. What do you see?’” Martin hesitated.

“I saw you.” He felt Benedict squeeze his hands, and he returned it, fierce and hard. “You’d come all the way to New Zealand to see me when I was filming, which was more than I could have expected – I think that might have been the first time I maybe looked at you a little differently. Of course, I had to keep all that to myself. I didn’t admit it to her or anyone or even me for a long time, but when I thought about happiness, it wasn’t Amanda, it was you. So we filmed series 3, and I let things go with you. Partly to concentrate on Amanda, partly because I had no idea what to say. Then we filmed the special, which was a bit easier, the Victorian costuming and stuff set us further apart, really, but again I know I kept my distance, too. I was confused and I had no idea what was happening with my life. Series 4 wasn’t long after that, and Amanda and I were over, but you were married, you’d just had a baby, kind of – I could hardly say anything. I knew though, when we filmed that scene with the hug at Baker Street. I knew then that Amanda and I were completely, definitely over and I knew that what I wanted was this with you.” He shrugged. “So I did the logical thing and got myself as far away as possible.” He chuckled dryly, but the sound bore no mirth. “Typical bloke, runs away when feelings attack.”

They sat there for a long time in the silence. Martin’s throat was dry but he daren’t get up. He didn’t even know if his legs would work – such a long speech, and with such emotion, had taken it out of him physically as well as mentally. He was just grateful that Benedict was still here.

Finally, Martin cleared his throat. “So, if you’re up for it,” he started, “tell me about you and Sophie.”


	10. Trouble in Paradise?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unplanned visit may throw a spanner in the works.

Benedict’s head was reeling as he sat holding Martin. Neither was speaking, lost as they were in their respective heads. Much of the story was as Benedict had suspected, and it was a little perfunctory – more about giving Benedict a timeframe that really explaining how Martin had felt. Even though Martin had tried to separate it out, the stories of Amanda and Benedict and Martin were interwoven too closely to tell one without reference to the others. Benedict was surprised that it had meant so much to Martin that he’d come to visit during the Hobbit. Benedict was in the movie, after all, though there was no need for him to be in New Zealand. He’d been disappointed that they wouldn’t need to both be there – they’d become good friends filming series 1 of _Sherlock_ , and their friendship had seemed to hold firm even after shooting had been completed. It had been natural for him to come and visit, and Martin had been happy, but there had been no indication that he and Amanda were having any serious issues. They’d talked about other things, and he knew that Amanda wasn’t exactly thrilled at Martin’s long absence, but, like everyone else, Benedict had assumed that she’d not held it against Martin. Now, though, it seemed that maybe she had.

Benedict had liked Amanda well enough when he’d first met her; as they worked on series 3, however, he’d seen more of her, particularly the way she’d treated the crew, and even Martin at times. Benedict made a point of getting to know people’s names, and of employing basic courtesy when talking to any of the crew, or asking anyone for anything. They were all people, just doing their jobs; it didn’t make him any more important just because he was on the screen and they were off it. Everyone was important, was his theory, and he knew that Martin shared the same philosophy. Amanda, on the other hand, had been impatient, even rude; not every time she spoke to someone, but often enough that Benedict was uncomfortable with it. She was increasingly short with Martin, too, thought Benedict thought it may have been the stress of working together, the kids being cared for by their grandparents. Perhaps not.

Benedict sighed, vaguely registering that Martin had said something.

“Sorry, what did you say?” he asked, pulling back a little so he could see Martin’s face.

“I said, if you’re up for it, tell me about you and Sophie.” Martin repeated.

Benedict’s brain was whirring too fast, processing what Martin had told him, searching for his own impressions and memories from those times to concentrates on telling his own tale. He shook his head. “Tomorrow night?” Benedict asked. “My head’s full of what you told me, I need to process a bit.” A shot of concern made its way through him. “Is that okay?”

Martin smiled gently at his concern. “Of course.” He leaned forward instead, slowly, allowing Benedict the opportunity to refuse him, but Benedict instead moved closer, his eyes closing as their lips met in a soft kiss. Lips slid across lips as they continued the exploration that had been begun those few weeks ago, each charting the taste and texture of the other’s mouth. Benedict found himself relaxing, the churning of his mind smoothed out by the languid movement of Martin’s mouth over his own. Like water on a chalkboard, the questions and flares of concern were washed away, leaving only the sensations behind – the smell of Martin’s hair gel, the taste of the tea on Martin’s tongue, the smoothness of his back under Benedict’s hands. This, thought Benedict, could be the best-

They jerked apart as a knock on Martin’s door shattered the quiet. Blue eyes met green as they stared at each other, neither expecting anyone.

“Yeah?” Martin called across the flat, not even bothering to get up until he knew who it was.

“Martin, it’s Mark.” Martin raised his eyebrows in a silent question to Benedict, who shook his head. Benedict’s heart was racing from the adrenaline released at Mark’s knock. He breathed deeply, trying to settle it down as Martin pulled himself from the couch to answer the door, checking he was decent on the way over. Benedict grinned despite himself – they’d barely shared a cuddle, let alone anything that could have mussed up his clothes.

“Hi, Mark.” Benedict could hear them in the entryway as Mark presumably hung up his coat, then they appeared in the doorway. Benedict stood to greet Mark, who shook his hand and handed them each one of the beers he’d brought.

“You look serious.” Benedict remarked, hoping Mark would get to the point quickly. While he would sometimes socialise with them, it was unheard of for him to drop in unannounced.

“Neither of you answered your phones, and yes, I do have something to discuss. Not that.” Mark said, instantly seeing the look that shot between Benedict and Martin. They were standing around the kitchen bench with their beers in hand. Benedict and Mark pulled up a stool, while Martin elected to stand, nearer Benedict than Mark, Benedict noted with satisfaction.

“I wanted to talk to you both about some stuff that’s shown up online. Not that!” he repeated his statement as they shares the same look again, thought with more exasperation this time. Mark brought out his tablet and showed them a screenshot of an online gossip site – a blurry image that was still recognisable as Benedict and Louise standing outside the staff party the previous night. Louise had been crying and Benedict had his arms protectively around her.

“Shit.” Benedict swore, a second before Martin let loose with a longer set of expletives. The headline read ‘Trouble in Paradise’.

“Paradise?” Benedict exploded, and Martin laid one hand on his arm.

Mark spoke quickly, cutting Benedict off as he sputtered. “It’s one photo, and it’s completely isolated because as you know there’s nothing in it.” He spoke as much to Martin as to Benedict.

“Of course we know, it’s just a shock.” Martin said, his hand still on Benedict’s arm. His words were aimed at Benedict too, and Benedict started breathing deeply, dispelling the unexpected rage at the notion of he and Louise… When he felt more under control, he opened his eyes and looked at Mark levelly.

“You must have a plan, that’s why you’re here.” He said.

Mark nodded. “In terms of the Louise picture, we’re not going to do anything. It’s the first of anything like this, and there’s nothing out there to corroborate it.”

Martin had picked up on something. “The Louise picture? Is there a different story we should be worried about?” Benedict willed Mark to say, “Not that!” again, but he did not. Mark took a long pull from his beer and sighed.

“Someone’s been talking to the press.” He said, the look between Benedict and Martin now more significant than the earlier ones. “The article is not actually about Lou and Ben, it’s about Ben and you.” This was directed at Martin. “The trouble is apparently between you two, not Ben and Louise.” Mark paused, waiting for a reaction. Benedict felt his face heat up, the pounding of blood in his ears taking over everything for a long moment while he stared at Mark.

“Who.” He said, but Mark shrugged. “No idea.”

“What.” Benedict seemed only to be able to speak in single words, but Mark knew what he was asking. “Someone from that closed set made several remarks about the kissing, making it clear that it was not in the crew’s script, and heavy on the insinuation that it was the two of you instead of Sherlock and John.” Martin and Mark looked at each other while Benedict stared blankly. He could peripherally read their faces – each knew that there was truth in that story but nobody was talking openly about it. Mark, an openly gay man himself, was nevertheless a tactful person, and would happily dance around their relationship with all the euphemisms and allusions he could muster until either Benedict or Martin were explicit on the subject.

“So.” Despite his control over his anger, Benedict still used only one word, not trusting himself to stop if he started speaking again.

“Steven and Sue and I had a meeting. We are the only ones that know about, er, what happened that day,” Mark said delicately, and Benedict shot him a grateful look for his discretion, “and Steven has agreed to release a teaser to negate the sensationalism and speculation from the story. We wanted to run it past you before we release it tonight, though.” Mark brought up the video on his tablet then passed it over to Benedict and Martin.

It was short, barely a minute, and cleverly edited, Benedict could see. It was raw footage, unrendered as it still would be until post-production, and it showed clips of the lead up kisses; the crew’s burst of surprised laughter after the first kiss; Benedict’s hysterical laughter and Martin’s slight strop at it; finally, the successful kiss. The editing made it look much shorter than it had been; although it did show the more enthusiastic ending, there was nothing that would suggest that it had not been scripted. No shots of either of them in that immediate moment where Benedict had wondered what had just happened; indeed, even the lead ups, where it was evident to Benedict that it was he and Martin rather than Sherlock and John, had been edited so that John’s sighed, “Sherlock” appeared immediately before their lips met, giving the impression that Martin had been in character through the whole moment.

Benedict was impressed. Given the short time they’d had to do it, this was a cleverly done piece of misdirection. When he commented to Mark, he grinned.

“Let’s just say that we like to be prepared.” He looked smugly at Benedict and Martin.

“You organised this before you knew about the story, didn’t you?” Martin asked, echoing the thought that had occurred to Benedict.

Mark nodded. “When he saw the footage, Steven figured that something might get out, and it would be a good idea to have something ready to go. You know what he’s like, thinking way ahead all the time.”

Benedict had to admit, this was one of Steven’s better ideas. He didn’t love the idea of this being out there – the media would have a field day, let alone the Johnlock fans – but it was better than the speculation that would inevitably spiral out of control and probably snare Louise within its grasp in the process.

“Run it.” He said, then checked himself and turned to Mark. “Actually, Mark, can you give us a minute?”

Mark nodded, making an excuse about using the loo, and disappeared. Benedict turned to Martin, blurting, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Lou was upset and-“

Martin cut across Benedict. “What the hell are you talking about? This isn’t you fault. If anyone’s to blame, it’s me. If I’d been more professional…”

Benedict picked up the end of the sentence where Martin had left off. “If you’d have been more professional, we wouldn’t be here, Martin, and that would be a bad thing.” It was as close to a confession as Benedict was going to give right now, since Mark was in the next room and his head was brimming with the evening’s events. Martin looked both relieved and elated, and Benedict couldn’t resist leaning down to brush their lips together, eyes locked as they did so. The affection between them was growing, he thought, and soon their gentle touches and reasonably chaste kissing would not be enough. He felt himself being drawn to Martin more with each day.

Mark’s return cut off Benedict’s train of thought, and he and Martin automatically shifted apart to a less intimate distance.

“So?” he asked, looking between them.

“Run it.” Martin said, his hand over Benedict’s, squeezing it.

Mark nodded. “Look, I’ve made Steven promise he won’t release anything, especially about that scene, without running it past you both. I know you wanted some time to figure this out,” he waved one hand between them, “but with the press you know we don’t always have a choice. I’ll do my best to keep it quiet, but for God’s sake don’t do anything stupid like, well, I’m sure you know what I mean, okay?” Faces red, Martin and Benedict followed Mark toward the door.

“Look, I’m going to go.” Benedict said to Mark in a low voice as Mark fiddled with his jacket. Martin looked disappointed, and Benedict knew why. They’d planned on spending a few more hours together, but Benedict really just needed some space, especially after the unexpected visit from Mark, with all that that had entailed.

Martin nodded. “Okay.”

“Tomorrow?” Benedict asked, smiling when Martin nodded again.

“I’ll share your car, Mark.” Benedict told him, gave a special smile to Martin, and followed Mark out.

They settled into the private car, and Mark ensured the privacy screen was up before he said, “I hope you’ve considered this, Benedict.”

Benedict blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Martin has been crazy for you since series 3. Between Amanda, Sophie and the kids, he’s had to wait a long time. Don’t fuck him over, okay?” Benedict always thought it was odd hearing profanity coming from Mark’s refined sounding palate, and this was no exception.

“I have no intention of doing so, Mark.” Benedict replied frostily. “And how the hell did you know that?”

Mark gave a restrained snort of laughter. “Martin and Louise have a tendency to meet for talks in the same place I have a tendency to sneak a ciggie when I need to. I heard some things, but as you can tell, I’m a discrete kind of person.”

Benedict stared at him, wondering how many other people knew but didn’t know who else knew about Martin’s affection for him. “I’m not stringing him along, Mark.”

Mark regarded him steadily, then nodded. “Good, because from what I’ve seen, you two could be magnificent.” He said in the offhand way he had of making outlandish statements.

Again, Benedict nodded, not knowing what to say to this. He was grateful beyond measure that they’d pulled up to his flat, and he could alight. Farewells complete, Benedict let himself inside. He had a lot of things to think about tonight, a full day tomorrow, and then another evening with Martin. Sighing, he pulled out his mobile to text Martin, scrolling past the earlier missed calls from Mark. Just as he’d started typing, a message came through.

_Good night. I hope you can sleep. Not sure how well I will after our excitement. MF_

Benedict grinned despite himself. Great minds, he thought as he typed.

_Good night. My brain just needs to process everything, then I’ll sleep. Not sure I need excitement like that every day. BC_


	11. Text Message Interlude

 

  **The evening after Mark’s visit to Martin’s place…**

**_Did you get the new shoot schedule? BC_ **

_Yes. It’s fucked. MF_

**_Do you think it’s on purpose? BC_ **

_I know the show’s mainly about you, but try and deflate the ego there, Benedict. We’ve lost a whole day’s shooting, remember? Gotta pick it up somewhere. MF_

**_I know. But we’re not going to have time to catch up for six days. Next Wednesday. That’s practically the last week of shooting. BC_ **

_Seven. I’m doing a talk at Central that night. Thursday. MF_

**_Fuck. BC_ **

_Yep. MF_

**_I’m going to email Mark and threaten him with bodily harm if either of us have to work that night. BC_ **

_Or the next morning, don’t forget that. I don’t want a 5am call just ‘cause he’s being funny. MF_

**_Good point. I’ll get on it. BC_ **

_I missed you last night. MF_

**_Me too. BC_ **

_How’s your brain? MF_

**_I think I lost some script trying to assimilate the new information. Paul is not gonna be happy. BC_ **

_He’s a nutter. MF_

**_Come on. You skip half your lines anyway, and let your face do the talking. BC_ **

_My face always does the talking. That’s where the mouth is, remember? MF_

**_Tosser. BC_ **

_Fine. So Thursday next week, my place. MF_

**_Scotch and pizza. BC_ **

_+++_

Next Monday…

**_Fucking Mark and his fucking schedule fucking changes. BC_ **

_What?! MF_

**_No way I’ll get out before 10 on Thursday. BC_ **

_Nobody else is on! What the fuck are they doing? MF_

**_Motion capture for the pixie in that drug sequence. BC_ **

_For fuck’s sake. I’m going to give that man a piece of my fucking mind. MF_

**_Can I make a deduction? BC_ **

_Fuck off with the Sherlock, Benedict. MF_

**_Fine. In that case I’ll guess. I’m guessing you’re mainly pissed because you want to hear the Sophie story. BC_ **

_Yeah. MF_

**_I’ll it to email you. BC_ **

_Seriously? MF_

**_I can write an email while I’m waiting for them to set up today’s shoot. With the dog and the kids, it’ll take forever. BC_ **

_Great.  MF_

_Thank you. MF_

**_Dartmoor is still fucking miserable, in case you were wondering. BC_ **

_When are you back? MF_

**_Wednesday. Seems to be taking forever without you here. BC_ **

_Ditto here. Missing having you around, even with that enormous ego. MF_

_**It’s not the size of the ego…BC** _

_Don’t even think about finishing that sentence. MF_

**_You can’t prank me from there, Mister. BC_ **

_Try me. MF_

**_Tempting, but no thanks. I’ll wait to talk to you on Wednesday. BC_ **

_Okay. Talk to you then. MF_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Martin refers to 'Central' he means the Central School of Speech and Drama, where he studied.
> 
> Paul (the director) is Paul McGuigan, who directed A Study in Pink.
> 
> Apologies to those from Dartmoor - I'm sure Benedict is just frustrated to be separated from Martin. ; )


	12. The Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benedict writes to Martin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad to be able to publish this for you patient souls! Reading a WIP can be a bit of a gamble, who knows when the author is going to have a crisis or whatever and just stop writing? The turmoil in my life has settled a little and allowed me to finally finish a few things, including some chapters of this story, so with luck we'll keep moving forward. I have a plan (those who know me know I ALWAYS have a plan), and I an confident it will keep moving, though a little more slowly than I would like.
> 
> I've done a fair bit of research trying to make dates and such line up but please allow a little leeway - there is almost certainly something that's not completely right in terms of what happened in RL, and to be honest, that's okay. This is an AU, remember, closely related to ours, I'll grant you, but AU never the less.

Hi Martin,

It’s a bit weird emailing this to you, but I have nothing else to do and it’s nice to think that I’m doing something for you even if I’m stuck in bloody Dartmoor.

I have no idea how to segue effectively into this, so I’ll just monologue, as you said.

Sophie and I met years ago. We’ve known each other almost half our lives, and it was a natural progression of our friendship when we fell into a romantic relationship. The one thing we didn’t agree on in our whole relationship, that we fought over, was the Johnlock thing. When I heard about it, I thought it was weird, but shrugged – there would always be people who liked entertainment media better than others, and the characters are fictional, they’re not me, as I reminded her over and over again. When she discovered the so called ‘Free-batch’, that was a fight for the record books. I don’t know what she wanted me to do about it, except that she seemed to think if I stopped playing Sherlock it might go away. We’d talked about this before, about my career and the kind of decisions I might have to make – mainly about me being away for long periods, or keeping odd hours. This was new, though. I explained that I liked playing Sherlock, plus it was an obvious boost to my career, and it kept me in the country, which I’d thought was a point in its favour.

She was jealous, when it came down to it, Martin. At the time I’d thought it was laughable, but she insisted that if other people were writing stories, they must have seen something, or heard something to make them think it. She was convinced that you and I would get together and that I would leave her for you. Ironic now that her belief drove us apart, leaving me free for you. Anyway, I managed to convince her otherwise, and once series two had finished shooting, I was thinking about proposing. I did, in the end; I thought that as well as my loving her, it might cement her belief that I would not leave her. It was almost the same time that she told me she was pregnant. I now think she did it in order to keep me close. We got married quite soon, but still there were aspects of my career she could not accept – we just didn’t talk about it. She wasn’t too happy about the BAFTAs in 2015; they were the week before our wedding and she was visibly pregnant. She did come in the end, and did a great job of looking happy – I think she had a better time than she thought she would. The following year was a different story – Chris was still so little, and the bloody awards were on Valentines’ Day, which was our wedding anniversary. There was a huge fight at that point, and I gave in and stayed home. It was a rocky time, though. By the time we got back on course, we were right in the middle of filming series four, and she insisted on coming to the set one day to show how happy we were.

Sophie never really explained why but she was miserable after that visit. She was uncharacteristically quiet, which I must admit unnerved me – at least when she was shouting I knew exactly what the problem was. This time though it was the silent treatment. Knowing what I know now, I suspect she could sense our connection. Even though we weren’t as close then, we still worked together well, and we knew each other well enough not to have to talk a lot, and when we did it was often ‘in’ jokes. It wasn’t long after that she fell pregnant with Lily. I was happy, of course, but I think that again this was her way of binding me to her. Needless to say, it didn’t work. By the time Lily arrived, we were distant, barely talking apart from the logistics of our lives. I know I’d pulled back, and I think she was starting to realise that I wasn’t happy.

The last argument we had, she accused me of ‘emotional infidelity’ which confused me no end. I’d not had a close female friend in years, it hadn’t been worth it with Sophie’s raging jealousy. Now, I think she might have meant you, after visiting the set of series 4 and watching us work together. I was worried about you then, and I probably talked about you a lot; I know I put a lot into trying to get you and I talking, really talking. I should have asked outright what was going on, thought I suspect you wouldn’t have answered, but at least I would have tried. I was too wrapped up in my own stuff, and I will always be sorry for that.

When Mark first approached me about series five of Sherlock, Sophie was outraged. She couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t just take her direction and refuse to play Sherlock again. It was probably just as much my own stubbornness as anything else but I told her that if they wanted to do a fifth series I would sign on – it was too much of a professional challenge to ignore, as well as it being enjoyable and quite frankly, it was great to have a job that was shortish, in the country and almost guaranteed to have a huge response. She was not happy at all, and stormed out. I didn’t see her again until she slammed into the house late that night.

Sophie left the next day, a note saying she didn’t want the kids, she’d taken her jewellery and that was enough. Things were messy in the press; I lost my temper once or twice and that fuelled the gossip for weeks. To avoid that I stopped working for a little while, which turned into a long while. I floated, doing some theatre stuff, small TV and the like. I couldn’t get motivated, couldn’t figure out what I was missing. And then Mark rang to talk more seriously about another series of Sherlock. I jumped at the chance, Martin, partly because it was fun, partly because I’d get to stay in the UK, and partly, if I’m being honest, because I’d get to see you again. We’d crossed paths at ceremonies and things but I never saw you at the parties. I’d missed you but I didn’t know how to reach you, what to say. I’d heard about what had happened with Amanda, but I didn’t know how to approach you about it. Series four had been hard and I wondered, in the dead of night with too much Scotch in my system, what I might have done to warrant your withdrawal. How self-centred I was.

I’ve just had a few drinks while I re-read this, hence the scrawl. Too much Scotch is now in my system and so I can write this, which I would otherwise not. I have never been so happy, Martin, as I have been with you these last few weeks. Our friendship has always been precious to me but this is so much more than I imagined even. The kids have noticed how much more relaxed I’ve been, even over Skype. ‘You’re all smiley, Daddy!’ Lily says. This, us, it won’t be easy but I want to see where we could go. I think we could touch the stars together, Martin.

 

“This above all: to thine own self be true,

 And it must follow, as the night the day,

 Thou canst not then be false to any man.”

 

“If I see but one smile on your lips when we meet, occasioned by this or any other exertion of mine, I shall need no other happiness.”

 

I can’t wait to see you again.

I am actually,

Yours,

Benedict

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The two quotes Benedict adds at the end of his letter are from Shakespeare (Hamlet), and Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley (Frankenstein) respectively.
> 
> And yes, I know that in our universe, Benedict and Sophie had a little boy this year, but I wrote this chapter before that happened, so Lily stays (AU, remember?).
> 
> <3


	13. Finally Friday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin and Benedict finally have some time to sit down again and talk.

Not that he wanted to be glad about the accident, but Martin really couldn’t have asked for better timing. Benedict had been back from Dartmoor for a few days but the crazy schedule had kept them from finding any personal time. They’d seen each other on set, of course, but the bulk of their joint scenes were done now, and there were just some voice work and bits and pieces to shoot. It was, however, Friday, _the_ Friday on which they would finally have the evening together to talk through Benedict’s email and Martin’s point of view of the last few years. His heart rate increased every time he thought about it. They’d been very professional on set, continuing the close bond they’d been portraying, careful not to reveal too much especially since someone on set was talking to the gossips. It had been torture for Martin, and he was sure that Benedict felt the same. So many night shoots and longs days had taken their toll, however, and there had been barely even a text message between shooting days as they tried to gain enough sleep to function the following day, each existing only to make it to Friday evening. Tonight.

It was conveniently after their last shot together that the lighting rig fell, smashing into part of the Baker Street set. Nobody was hurt, but Union Regulations insisted they shut down for the day, so both Martin, who was meant to be working in Baker Street that afternoon, and Benedict, slated for some ‘classified’ voice work with Steven, had been freed hours earlier than they thought they would be. A quick text confirming the plan – separate cabs back to Benedict’s place – and Martin was out of there, hair still damp from the shower he’d quickly grabbed to wash away all traces of John Watson. His cab was, of course, the slowest one in the city, and he tapped his fingers impatiently on his leg as they crawled in the direction of Benedict’s house.

Martin wondered a little nervously how this evening would pan out. He had read Benedict’s email at least a dozen times, trying to remember each event as it was described, and was floored by the final paragraph. Benedict must have been drunk, he thought, to write such prose; having said that, it was certainly nice to hear that his own increasingly fierce attachment was evidently matched by Benedict. As he read through Benedict’s email, Martin had also tried to remember where he was and what he was feeling at each event mentioned, wondering how he would have reacted at each point had he and Benedict discovered each other at that point instead of now. Really, there was no way of knowing, but Martin felt an odd sense of rightness about their developing relationship happening now. Perhaps this was the right time, and the rest had simply been setting the scene.

The cabbie had stopped, and Martin shook himself, paid the man and alighted, waiting as usual for the car to depart before walking several doors down to Benedict’s house. He was clearly expected, the door opening for him before he’d even raised a hand to knock.

“Hi,” he said as he entered. Benedict shut the door, then turned to Martin and smiled. It was a smile Martin never saw on set, a genuine, relaxed expression, and he had not realised how much he had missed seeing the real Benedict until this moment. Martin moved in, and the very second he shifted his body weight Benedict did the same, allowing them to meet in the middle. Their mouths met in a kiss, open from the start, tongues dancing together. Relief and a sense of calm spread like melted honey through Martin, his whole body feeling warm and heavy as a result. He leaned into Benedict, pushing him back against the wall, and Benedict took the hint, splaying his legs to lower himself closer to Martin’s height. It also allowed Martin to step in closer, pressing his body against Benedict’s. They both shuddered at the sensation, grasping at each other’s clothing. Nothing they had shared had been so heated; their kisses so far had been wandering, exploring; this was need and want and I-missed-you all wrapped up, and it raised some interesting new developments, in quite a literal way. Martin felt his own groin swelling before he noticed anything changing in Benedict, but still, he edged his body away a little, lightening the kisses and cupping Benedict’s face, drawing back to look into those eyes, those _eyes_ , he thought. Benedict’s hands were on Martin’s waist, steadying himself, and he was smiling a contented smile down at Martin.

“Hi,” Benedict said, a belated reply to Martin’s greeting. They kissed again, light and chaste before Martin stepped back and Benedict stood up, restoring the height difference. He reached down to interlace his fingers with Martin’s before they started further into the house.

“Beer?” Benedict asked as they made their way into the kitchen.

Martin disentangled his fingers and worked on the zipper of his coat, adding it to his scarf on the end of the bench. “I believe the deal was Scotch and pizza actually.”

Benedict nodded, hand stopping on the door of the fridge. “Indeed. Shall we order now, or later?”

“I didn’t stop at catering on my way out, so I vote now.” Martin replied, and they sorted their order as Martin chose the Scotch. Leaning against the counter, he watched Benedict as he ordered their late lunch, marvelling that this man was interested in him for the tenth time already that day.

Benedict hung up the phone and turned, catching Martin watching him. “What?” he asked self-consciously.

Martin just smiled. “Nothing,” he replied. He felt confident, all of a sudden, that no matter the direction it took, he was ready for their conversation about Amanda.

“I’m going to text Mark,” Benedict said, already typing, “and tell him to leave us alone ‘til Sunday. Tomorrow’s a break anyway, the last one before the party next week, and they’re done with principal photography.” Martin raised his Scotch in agreement, sipping at the liquid until Benedict put his phone down and joined him on the couch, sharing this time rather than seated across from each other. Martin grinned as they shifted to get comfortable, Benedict’s long legs in particular troublesome to accommodate. They finally settled in, facing each other from opposite ends of the couch, legs tangled together, though one of Benedict’s did hang over the edge, his foot resting on the floor.

“To time off, finally.” Benedict offered, raising his glass.

Martin copied him, adding, “To Union Regs.” They clinked glasses and sipped, the warmth running through Martin. He sighed, relaxing into the couch and the awareness of Benedict’s closeness.

“That was one amazing email.” Martin started, eyes still closed as he savoured the quiet moment. He felt Benedict shift his weight. “Exactly how drunk were you?” he continued, then opened his eyes to look at Benedict, whose face was screwed up in embarrassment.

“Drunk enough, obviously.” Benedict remarked, nudging Martin reprovingly with his foot. Martin grinned again and let it go, knowing Benedict had gotten the message – _I feel the same_. They were far too British and emotionally stunted to say it aloud, Martin thought with amusement.

“Things must have been hard with Sophie.” Martin ventured into the quiet.

Benedict’s face was pensive, and he nodded. “Not the easiest time of my life.” He agreed.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” Martin said, his voice quiet and regretful. His own life had been tumultuous at the time, but his guilt for abandoning Benedict would not abate.

“Hey, from what I can gather you had a lot of your own shit to deal with, too.” Benedict replied, and Martin just shrugged.

“True enough,” he told Benedict, swirling his Scotch, “but I was avoiding you so much I didn’t even know anything was really going on.” Benedict didn’t reply, and Martin felt that this was the segue he needed into his own rollercoaster around that time. “I was avoiding just about everybody, really. Amanda and I…it was just so hard, trying to justify my career, really. And when I realised it wasn’t just not her, but actually you…” Martin trailed off, and Benedict let him, the silence shrouding them both.

“Lou was amazing. She could see how unhappy I was and she sat me down as asked me right off what was going on.” Martin grinned to himself at the memory. “You know how determined she can be, and it was such a relief to be able to talk to someone.” Shifting his weight, Martin changed tracks slightly, his voice quieter now. “I’ve always valued your friendship, Benedict, and I thought it was just that I was missing, especially when I had to go back to New Zealand to finish filming _The Hobbit_. By the time series three came around, and series four, I was having serious doubts about Amanda and I, and seeing you again was…wonderful. I’d forgotten so many details, and I was realising that it wasn’t just your friendship I wanted. Talking it over with Lou again was excellent – she’d remembered all the things I’d said in the last series, and we’d stayed in touch more than anyone during the break. But you and Sophie were seeing each other by then and I wasn’t going to break that up for you.” Martin stopped, and the silence settled over them again.

Finally Benedict spoke, breaking into the silence with his slow and considered words. “I was worried about you, you know. You were so different, in series three of _Sherlock_. I assumed it was troubles with Amanda, and you and I just didn’t gel like we had before. I wondered if there was something else too. We didn’t have those long talks like we had.”

“Once I realised how I felt, I couldn’t. We’d been so honest there was no way I could have fooled you if you’d asked.”

“I can see that now. At the time I didn’t understand, but there was a wall there, a shadow.” Benedict sighed. “Sophie and I weren’t so good, even then. I had to work hard to keep her happy, really, and her jealously was starting to show. I had a lot going on too.” He ducked his head, catching Martin’s eye and smiled at him, a gentle smile of kinship. “I think we’re both a little guilty of the same thing – being wrapped up in our own lives. Having plates already too full with our own stuff to take on someone else’s stuff.” He leaned forward, taking Martin’s glass and sending his heart rate skyrocketing. As Martin watched, Benedict placed their glasses on the floor and took his hands, the warmth of the larger hands surrounding Martin’s smaller ones. “It was self-preservation, Martin, from both of us. I am just glad, so so glad, that we got to this point. If you hadn’t been patient, if I’d folded when Sophie pushed me, we might never have made it here.” He raised their joint hands to his lips, kissing Martin’s knuckles. The friction made Martin’s breath hitch, and their eyes locked. Martin’s heart, already racing, pounded hard than ever. The moment was heavy with promise and desire and a whole universe of things that they’d fleetingly touched upon when they kissed earlier. As they moved in towards each other, breath mingling in the air between them, the doorbell rang. It shattered the atmosphere, and they chuckled. Martin sat back as Benedict rose to answer the door, breathing deeply. Things were definitely going somewhere.


	14. An Agreement Reached

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the pizza and Scotch help Benedict and Martin relax together.

The atmosphere hadn’t really returned to normal; more like the edge had been taken off while Benedict paid the pizza delivery girl. She was clearly a regular, saying, “Hi, Benedict, how’s things?” as he took their order. He grinned back at her and tipped her well as he always did. She winked at him as she left, and Benedict spotted Martin, who raised one eyebrow from his spot leaning against the doorway.

“What?” Benedict asked, the hot pizza starting to burn his hand through the cardboard.

“She liked you.” Martin noted in a falsely neutral voice.

Benedict raised an eyebrow of his own, walking past Martin to the kitchen to place the pizzas on the bench. He turned to Martin, who was looking amused, leaning against the same doorway.

“She always delivers my pizza.” Benedict said, a smile on his face and a tease in his voice.

“I’m sure she does.” Martin replied, the insinuation in his voice clear.

“She’s very happily married.” Benedict added, crossing his arms.

“I’m sure she is.” Martin echoed himself, the same inference in his voice, though his broad smile made his amusement clear.

“Her wife is very nice.” Benedict added, chuckling at Martin’s expression of resignation.

“Oh all right.” Martin finally conceded, moving closer to Benedict, brushing his hand over Benedict’s as he moved to the freezer for more ice. He filled their glasses and they took their pizza into the living room, sitting on the floor and with their hands. It was like a teenagers’ date with the addition of excellent Scotch, Benedict thought, as they shot each other significant glances, giggling as pizza was fed from one to the other and they shared messy kisses in between bites. This was what he’d been missing with Sophie, Benedict thought to himself, as he watched Martin picking the olives off his pizza, eating them first as he always did. The fun, the silly moments as well as the conversations. He and Sophie had been well suited in some regards, but they had never really recaptured the fun they had shared as young adults. She had always been serious, but growing up had strengthened that trait in her, allowing it to dominate her personality. Benedict hadn’t even realised until after Chris had been born, and he’d played with his son. Sophie had rarely joined in, leaving Chris with others more often than not. It had been hard work, bringing her into their fun world, and she had always seemed to resent it.

But this with Martin, this was easy. They knew each other so well, and trusted each other; the years of working together had done more good than the absent years had done harm to their relationship. Perhaps it was that they were older and knew themselves better, or perhaps it was the experiences of their respective failed relationships. Either way, his confidence in understanding Martin was solid, as well as Martin’s understanding of him. They could talk about their work, or Shakespeare, or watch silly videos on YouTube; practice impressions of people (he could always make Martin laugh with his Alan Rickman) or analyse their most painful memories. It was this moment, though, that cemented the decision that had been creeping up on him for a while now. He wanted to be with Martin, to see how a relationship would develop. The press would be difficult, of course, but they were used to it, to a degree, and it wouldn’t last forever. It was their friends and family that were the most important; how would he break it to the children?

“What?” Martin’s voice broke into Benedict’s reverie. He popped another olive into his mouth. “What are you thinking about?”

“How to tell the kids.” Benedict replied.

Martin’s hand froze, olive halfway to his mouth. “Your kids?”

Benedict nodded. “And yours, though I guess you’ll want to tell them yourself.”

Martin’s hand had resumed its path, his mouth working on the olive automatically as his eyes searched Benedict’s face. Benedict’s heart started beating faster, wondering what Martin was thinking. Was it too early? Should they have had a discussion first? Had Martin, after everything, changed his mind?

Martin finished the olive and swallowed, his eyes crinkling as a smile split his face. “So does that mean…” he asked, letting Benedict fill in the end of the sentence. Benedict nodded a little hesitantly, not sure whether Martin was approving or not of his decision.

With a little “whoop!” Martin launched himself at Benedict, hugging him around the neck with his greasy hands. His body weight pushed Benedict back against the floor, so Martin was sprawled across Benedict, who had grabbed his waist in reflex as he fell. Martin was shaking, and Benedict was worried for a moment until he could hear the delighted giggles.

“So that’s good, then?” Benedict gasped, breath still knocked out of him. He felt Martin nod his head, the hot breath on his neck as Martin had buried his face there. Benedict squeezed Martin, allowing a “woop!” of his own out. They clung to each other, the euphoria racing through Benedict as he realised that he and Martin were actually going to do this – to see each other properly, to date, odd as that sounded. Their giggles eventually subsided, and Martin raised his head, bringing his sparkling eyes to meet Benedict’s.

“A bit very good.” He said, paraphrasing John Watson. Benedict rolled his eyes, but they quickly closed when Martin pressed his mouth to Benedict’s, the kiss firm and exhilarating. They kissed exuberantly, sharing their joy and relief at a decision made and revelled in. Benedict rolled Martin over, relieving the weight on his torso, and Martin yelped in surprise. Letting him go, it was only when they sat up that Benedict realised Martin had rolled over the remains of his pizza.

“Oh, shit…” Benedict muttered, though he chuckled when Martin shot him a look. The pizza was squashed beyond salvage, and Martin had managed to cover both his trousers and shirt in a mess of cheese, vegetables and sauce. Benedict reached out and picked off an olive, holding it out with an innocent expression. “Olive?” he asked, his voice breaking as he broke once again into gales of laughter.

“I’m going to need a shower, you prat.” Martin said. He stood, and Benedict followed as he ensured all the pieces of pizza were gone before moving off towards the bathroom.

Benedict grabbed some towels and handed them to Martin. “I’ll grab you some stuff to change into.” He said, and Martin turned and kissed him again, grinning as he closed the bathroom door. Benedict felt a silly grin cross his own face, the happiness buoying his step while he chose the smallest sweatpants and t-shirt he owned, mindful of the difference in their stature. Hesitating outside the bathroom door, Benedict wondered if he should enter to bring the clothes in or not. Before he and Martin were _he and Martin_ , he’d have barged in, chatting to Martin while he showered and probably staying while he dried and dressed himself. Things were different now, and they were nowhere near the kind of casual intimacy those actions implied. Finally Benedict steeled himself, knocked loudly then stepped in, saying, “I’ll just drop these here,” as he deposited the clothes on the closed toilet lid.

“Cheers!” Martin called, and Benedict left. He yawned, glancing at his watch. It was just gone five in the afternoon, but between the crazy schedule lately, the relaxation of his afternoon (both Martin and the Scotch) and his full stomach, Benedict’s body was telling him it was quite ready for rest. He changed into sweat pants and a t-shirt, hoping Martin might be up for a movie or something. He sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the floor and running his hand through his hair, enjoying the quiet.

“You tired too?” Martin asked. He’d entered the room still pulling his t-shirt on. Benedict nodded.

“Let’s brush teeth and turn in, then.” Martin suggested. Too tired to do anything but nod again, Benedict made himself stand up and step into the bathroom, finding a spare toothbrush for Martin. Teeth were brushed side by side in silence, the atmosphere between them now comfortable and easy. They finished their teeth and Martin left, allowing Benedict to relieve himself before returning to the bedroom. Martin was standing by the window in the near darkness, watching the light changing, as the day slowly came to a close. Benedict slipped his arms around Martin, hands resting on his stomach, chin on his still damp hair. He felt Martin sigh and relax back against him, their body warmth mingling through the thin cotton t-shirts. It was wonderful, Benedict thought, to be able to stand here in silence, just enjoying each other’s company – no sex, no words, no compromise. Just the two of them, as they were, no pressure or expectation.

“Ready?” Martin murmured, and Benedict released his arms in response. Benedict drew the curtains and turned to the bed, heart pumping a little faster at the situation. Martin allowed Benedict to get settled first, before joining him, hesitantly climbing into the clean sheets. The room was dark but Benedict, lying on his side of the bed as he still did, could feel the uncertainty coming off Martin in waves.

“Are you going to come over here?” Benedict asked carefully, not wanting to put any expectations on Martin. To his relief, Martin scooted over, and they figured themselves out, Benedict’s long arms wrapped around Martin, who was curled into Benedict’s side.

“Better?” Benedict asked, and he felt Martin nod in affirmation.

“Much.” Martin’s quiet voice made its way through the darkness, and Benedict smiled. They would talk more tomorrow, about details and conversations to come, but right now, Benedict thought drowsily, this was as close as he’d probably ever come to true bliss.

+++

Stretching, Benedict felt another body in his bed for the first time in a long time, small children for cuddles notwithstanding. He smiled to himself, rolling over to be closer to Martin and his warmth.

“Morning.” Martin offered, his voice deep with sleep.

“Morning.” Benedict replied, creaking his eyes open to see Martin looking at him from the opposite pillow. They smiled secret smiles at each other and Martin braved the morning breath, kissing Benedict softly.

“Mmmmm.” Benedict stretched again, amazed at his good fortune. He rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling.

“Whole day off today.” Benedict said, loving the sound of it as much as the idea.

“And tomorrow.” Martin added, grinning at the disbelief on Benedict’s face.

“Seriously?” Benedict asked, and Martin nodded. “Wow.”

“Mark texted me back last night. They’re going to condense all our last bits and pieces to Monday through Wednesday so it’s easier for us. I know,” he added at Benedict’s still astonished expression, “best for us instead of anyone else, it’s unheard of, but I’m not going to question it.” A slow smile grew across Benedict’s face as he realised what that meant – a whole weekend off in the middle of a shooting schedule was decadent beyond belief.

“So what should we do?” Benedict asked now, then added, “No, probably not that,” at Martin’s energetic eyebrow wiggle.

Martin grinned then sat up, leaning against the headboard. “We could take the chance to talk to our kids?” he suggested, looking sideways at Benedict to gauge his reaction.

Benedict nodded. “Good idea.” He paused. “We should probably have a few conversations while we’re at it – I was thinking Mark should probably hear this from us.”

“And Lou.” Martin added. “God, she’s going to go nuts.” They grinned at each other again, the same secret, ‘this is so amazing’ smile from earlier.

“Yes, we should see Lou.” Benedict agreed, then added, “I think we should do this one-on-one. Lou and Mark, and your kids, they’re a bit older and might not say what they really think if we’re both there.”

Martin considered this, then nodded in agreement. “Let’s do it Sunday. We can set everything up today, hang out here, wash my clothes even,” Benedict giggled at this, “and do a whole lot of nothing.”

“Deal.” Benedict agreed, relieved that it was decided so quickly. “So do we have to get up right now?”

Martin shook his head and dropped down again, lying next to Benedict, one hand caressing his face. “Not at all.”


	15. Benedict's Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benedict tells the most important people in his life about his new relationship.

Benedict didn’t think he’d ever been as nervous waiting for his kids before. Telling them their mother had left had actually been easy in comparison to this, he thought as he paced. They had been staying with his parents, who were bringing Chris and Lily over for an hour before taking them out again. Benedict was so grateful his parents were willing to accommodate him at such short notice. They understood the industry, of course, having worked in it for far longer than he’d been alive; but the conversation he’d had on Saturday afternoon, in which he had hesitantly announced his relationship with Martin, had been a relief in itself. They’d both met Martin as they shot series 2 and then 3; the three of them had gotten on like the proverbial house on fire. Both his parents had been surprised – a fair reaction given his complete lack of interest in men prior to this – but supportive, as always.

“We are just happy that you’re happy, Ben.” His mother had said, and Benedict could hear his father shouting, “hear, hear!” in the background. They understood that he wanted to talk to the kids alone, and had suggested they drop the kids off and make themselves scarce for a while before collecting them again. It wasn’t long until the shooting schedule was due to wrap up and he would have another break, and lots of time to spend with his children. Benedict wondered what Martin had planned. Perhaps they could take a trip together, maybe with all the kids, depending on their reaction? Martin’s kids must be 17 and 15 to Chris and Lily’s 8 and 6.  They’d all met on the set of the last series of Sherlock, but briefly, and come to think of it, that was before Lily was born. Wow, it had been a long time.

The doorbell broke into Benedict’s thoughts, bringing him back to the present and the arrival of his children on his doorstep.

“Daddy!” squealed Lily, Chris failing spectacularly at looking too cool for a hug as his sister jumped on Benedict. Chris was swept up too, Benedict’s long arms easily reaching around their little bodies for a squeeze.

“Oh, I’ve missed you two Whos!” he exclaimed.

Lily answered immediately, “Who did you miss, Daddy?”, starting off their usual greeting.

“I missed you, Who!”

“Which Who?”

“Well, which Who are you, Who?”

“I’m Cindy Lou Who!” She finished their ritual with a shout. Benedict grinned, then slung his arm over Chris’ shoulder, saying, “Come on, JoJo, I’ve got pancakes that need cooking.”

Chris’ face brightened, and he bounded ahead into the kitchen.

“See you later,” Wanda said, leaving quietly while everyone was happy.

In the kitchen, Chris was looking at the spread of fruit, pancake mix and toppings. He turned to Benedict, the look on his face oddly adult for an eight year old. “Right, what’s the job?” he said, hiking himself up on a chair.

Benedict blinked. “I beg your pardon?” he answered.

Chris sighed dramatically, as though this was all so _obvious_. “Come on, Dad. You only ever make pancakes with, like, a thousand toppings when you have something to tell us.” He shrugged, adding, “Since _Sherlock_ is about to wrap, I assume you’ve taken a new job, and it’s either long or far away.”

Benedict was both proud and awestruck by his son’s deductions, but this was cut short by the wail from Lily.

“I don’t want you to go, Daddy!” she cried, throwing her arms around Benedict.

“No, no, wait…” He said, throwing a cross look at Chris and gently taking hold of Lily. “I do have something to tell you but it’s good news, okay?” It took a few minutes to calm Lily down enough for her to listen, and even then she was mainly distracted by the mini-marshmallows Chris was feeding her. Benedict took a deep breath. “You know how Mummy decided to move away?” he started, and Chris nodded. Benedict went on, “Well, I’ve been thinking that I’d like to have another, um, grown up to be around, you know?” Chris stared blankly at him, shaking his head. Benedict could see that Lily was concentrating on the marshmallows, so he focused on his son. One at a time might be better, actually. He cleared his throat. “Well, most families have a Mummy and a Daddy,” he drew a deep breath, “or two Daddies, or two Mummies…”

Chris’ face cleared, and he said, “Oh, you mean you have a girlfriend and you want us to meet her. Okay, cool.”

Halfway there, Benedict thought. “Actually,” he said, and the tone of his voice made Chris look up, eyebrows raised. “I have a boyfriend, and I’d like you to meet him.”

Lily, who had apparently not been listening at all, said now, “You have a boyfriend, Daddy?”

Benedict nodded, heart in his mouth as he watched his children process this. Lily opened her mouth to speak, and Benedict wondered if she was about to condemn him or…

“Does he like bacon?”

He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Does he like _bacon_ , Daddy. I love bacon, but I will share if you boyfriend likes bacon and wants some of mine.” Her wide eyes were so sincere that Benedict had to smile.

“Actually he’s a vegetarian, so your bacon is safe, Cindy Lou Who.” Benedict told her. He turned to Chris, who had not yet spoken. “What about you, JoJo?”

“Does he live in London?” Chris asked, and Benedict nodded. Chris sagged with relief. “So we’re not moving to, like, America or anything?”

“No way, Chris. I’d never move us so far away.” Benedict replied firmly. He knew his son loved London, and had worried a lot about having to shift with his father’s work – one of the reasons Benedict had taken so much British work in the last few years.

“Great. Can we meet him, then?” Chris asked. “And can I have Nutella and marshmallows on my pancakes?”

Benedict grinned and nodded at his son, love and pride and relief all mingling in his chest. His kids had their priorities sorted.

+++

Benedict slid into the corner booth of the tiny shop, grateful that Emma had opened on her usual day off for him. He paid her well to open on the occasional Sunday so he could have somewhere private to have breakfast with the kids, conduct meetings or sometimes just sit and have a quiet coffee. She could always say no, though, as he made clear every time he asked, but she never did.

Lou was waiting for him, having been admitted by Emma a few minutes earlier. Their tea was waiting on the table, and he sipped gratefully at it. Pancakes with the kids, especially with a time frame, did not allow for tea to be made, let alone enjoyed.

“So what’s happening?” Lou asked, the concern radiating off her.  He knew she was going directly from their date to meet with Martin, with whom she would surely have a longer conversation, given their history. He decided to keep it simple.

“Martin and I are seeing each other. Officially.” He told her, unable to keep the smile from turning up the ends of his mouth. She squealed, then clapped her hand to her mouth before scootching around the booth to hug him fiercely. With a sudden movement, Lou pulled back, her finger in Benedict’s face as she said, “Hurt him, remember, and…” before making a threatening gesture across her neck with one thumb.

“I remember.” Benedict replied, grinning again as she hugged him again.

“Oh, I’m so happy for you both.” Lou said again, giving him a soppy look over her teacup.  “Who else have you told? I assume this is all hush hush?” she asked.

“For a bit, yes.” He replied apologetically. “We haven’t actually talked about when we’ll make it public, actually…”

Lou snorted. “Come on, I’ve actually been keeping this secret longer than you have, Benedict Cumberbatch.”

“True.” He had to concede. “I told my parents and my kids this morning,” he explained, “Mum and Dad are happy as long as I’m happy, you know what they’re like,” she nodded, “and Lily is happy she doesn’t have to share her bacon, and Chris just wants to live in London.” He smiled again, the relief evident on his face.

“That’s great.” Lou replied, sipping at her tea. “I love how kids have their priorities set right.”

They chatted a while longer, a little about work, a little about Benedict’s idea for a holiday for he and Martin and all their kids together, about Lou’s plans for after _Sherlock_.

After a while, Lou glanced at her watch and made a rueful face. “I’m sorry, Benedict, I’ll have to fly, I’m meeting Martin for lunch and I have a few things to do first.” She hugged him again, saying warmly, “I’m so happy for you both.”

Two down, Benedict thought to himself as Emma brought him another cup of coffee. He had a little bit of time before Mark was due to arrive, so he risked a quick text to Martin.

_How’s it going? BC_

 

The reply was almost instantaneous.

_Mark’s on his way to you. Mainly talked about publicity etc. MF_

 

Benedict frowned a little. That seemed an odd response, but if Mark was on his way over, he’d be here soon enough, and he could answer Benedict’s questions in person.

_Thanks. x_

 

He’d hesitated before signing his text such, then did it anyway. Now that he and Martin were on the same page, he wanted to be affectionate when he felt like it, instead of stifling the urge as he had been doing.

_Anytime. xx_

 

Benedict grinned, then slid his phone into his pocket as Mark knocked on the glass. Emma admitted him, and he thanked her before approaching Benedict.

“Finally.” Mark greeted him, enveloping the taller man in a bear hug. “I thought you two would never figure yourselves out.”

They sat, Mark ordering a pot of tea before turning sternly to Benedict. “I assume Lou gave you the, ‘hurt him and I’ll hurt you’ speech,” he said, “so I won’t repeat it. But you get the idea.”

“I certainly do,” Benedict said with a small smile. “I’m hoping it might go the other way too, actually.”

Mark snorted, much as Lou had done not so long ago. “He’s got a lot more invested in this than you have, Benedict.”

They paused as Emma brought out the tea, then departed again.

Mark started doctoring his tea, adding milk as he asked, “Have you thought about the when and the how of telling people about this?”

Benedict shook his head. He and Martin had not discussed it. “The idea of a press conference or press release or whatever makes me quite ill, actually.” He admitted. “Hopefully if I grope Martin on a red carpet somewhere they’ll get the idea, right?”

Mark rolled his eyes. “I know that might sound funny, Benedict, but this is seriously something to sit down and discuss with your publicist, and Martin’s. They’re going to have to coordinate, you know, and despite the fact that we’re well into the twenty first century, there will be a high level of interest in this, and not just from TMZ.” He leaned forward, his tone conciliatory. “I’m not trying to be a downer, Benedict, but I’ve lived this for a long time, and I want you to think about how you’re going to present yourself. The job offers will change now, in the US at least, maybe not as much over here. The next few projects you do, especially big ones, there will be questions about this, when they should be asking about the work. About you, about Martin, about your kids and your sex life and Sophie…” He shook his head. “There shouldn’t be, but there will. You need to think about how much you want to put out there, about how to protect your kids from it, how much they need to know.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a card, offering it to Benedict. “This is my publicist. I’m not saying Angelina isn’t good, but Celia has been representing me and a lot of gay actors for a long time. She’s managed this well for a lot of people. At least have a meeting with her, listen to what she has to say.” He shrugged.

“Thanks Mark.” Benedict’s voice was low. This meeting with Mark was meant to be the top of his day, the last easy conversation, the one with another gay man, for goodness sake. Instead, Mark was popping the balloons keeping his spirits aloft, dragging him back to reality again and allowing his unformed fears to settle heavily in his gut. The conversation drifted across a few topics before Mark gave up on trying to draw Benedict out of his slump. He stood to leave, dropping a hand on his shoulder.

“Sorry, Benedict.” He said, and Benedict waved him off, seeing how contrite he was. Clearly Mark had not thought through the reality he was presenting Benedict with, and he now regretted his line of conversation. Too late now. How do you kill an idea? You can’t, not once it’s made a home right here, he thought, touching his own forehead with one finger.


	16. Martin's Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin speaks to his nearest and dearest about his new relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two in one day, aren't you lucky?  
> This chapter is a little less polished than I'd like, but I wanted to get both these chapters out to you so we can get onto the good stuff - the Benedict/Martin relationship. There's some good stuff coming up and these two chapters are more about them knowing their families are behind them before they focus on their relationship and how things are going to work.
> 
> Thanks, as usual, to everyone who had left love and kudos - and I agree with everyone who gets frustrated at only being allowed to leave kudos once on a work - so frustrating! <3

****Martin waited impatiently, tapping his newspaper against his leg. His morning had gone well – brunch with Mark, lunch with Lou, and now he’d see the kids. Not that they were little any more, but they’d still be ‘the kids’ forever, he grinned to himself.

His conversation with Mark had been much as he thought it would be – Mark was happy but demonstrably concerned for how it would affect their lives and careers. Martin had spent many hours thinking about the same things, so many of Mark’s concerns had occurred to him too, at some point; he appreciated Mark’s experience though. They’d spent quite a bit of time debating things, although both agreed that there were decisions to be made that Martin and Benedict would have to make together.

“Whatever you do, Martin, do it together. You have to agree on how you’re going to approach this. It’s you two against the world, almost.” Mark had said earnestly.

Martin was glad he’d met with Mark first – the conversation, while instructional and practical had left him feeling a little overwhelmed. Lou, however, was all girly excitement. She’d come from seeing Benedict and was still obviously riding the high of the good news. The hug she gave Martin was fierce; of all the people in the world, only she had lived Martin’s misery in the last few years, and only she could really celebrate this joy with him. He choked back his tears as she whispered, “I am so happy for you both”, then they sat and he told her every detail of their relationship so far. They giggled like schoolgirls and Martin loved every second – sharing something exciting and positive with Lou was so wonderful after the frustrated, sad conversations of the past.

“So,” Lou asked eventually, taking the final bite of her chicken salad and placing her cutlery on the plate, “what’s the real deal?” She looked at him expectantly, but he was drawing a blank. When he shook his head, she rolled her eyes, lowered her voice and asked bluntly, “How’s the sex, Martin?”

Martin almost sprayed cider across the table at her before choking out, “God, Lou, way to be subtle.”

“I tried subtle,” she said nonchalantly, “but you didn’t get it, so I had to resort to blunt. I’ll assume that means it hasn’t happened yet. My next question, of course, is why not, and its companion, when are you planning on it?”

Martin chuckled. He should have expected this – knowing every detail meant every _single_ detail to Lou. No holds barred, he owed her that much.

“I spent the night on Friday and Saturday, but you remember the last few weeks, they’ve been crazy. We were exhausted and fell asleep.” She nodded, eyebrows raised as though waiting for more. He admitted, “It was just good to spend that time together, knowing we’re both on the same page, without adding that to it.” He fiddled with his napkin, then added, “I don’t even know…I mean, there are options that I’ve never had to think about, too, and I have no idea what he thinks about…that…I mean, we haven’t had any conversation about it or anything…” Martin trailed off, his face hot with embarrassment as he tried to get his head around the idea of not just sleeping with Benedict, but _sleeping_ with Benedict.

Lou grinned at him sympathetically. “You’re a grown man, Martin, and so is he. If you want to have a conversation about it, then sit him down and do it. If you don’t, then,” she shrugged, “you can always figure things out as you go.” He could feel her eyes on him as he continued to avoid her gaze. “Look, Martin, he probably has as little idea about this as you do. I don’t know how much experience you have with men – and I don’t want to, thanks – but assuming Benedict has thought about the logistics of this, he’s probably just as unsure as you are.” She took his hands, gently pulling the shredded napkin from his fingers. “Look at me, Martin.” He dragged his eyes up to meet her empathetic gaze. “All of this is moot if you’re able to go and have a conversation with him. You’re going to need to be able to talk about a lot of difficult stuff, like any couple, but you two will have a few extra challenges, and you won’t last if you can’t be honest about how you’re feeling.” A sad smile crossed her face, and Martin gripped her hands, remembering the boyfriend who’d refused to talk about himself, eventually cutting himself off completely from her.

“Please, go and talk to him, Martin. Even if you don’t discuss details of the sex stuff, just tell him you’ve been thinking about it and its freaking you out a bit. At least he’ll know where you stand, and chances are he’ll open up to you, too.”

Martin smiled a wobbly smile at her, and she grinned, wiping a tear from her own eye. “So happy I get to have this conversation with you, Martin.” She said sincerely. Before he could reply, a fan had hesitantly approached them, and both Martin and Lou had smiled for a photo before they’d both stood to leave.

“Call me later,” Lou said in parting, “I’m done on _Sherlock_ so I won’t see you ‘til the wrap party.”

Martin had nodded and they’d gone their separate ways, he towards the park to meet his kids, she to a meeting with her agent. He had a lot to think about – but first, his kids.

Now, he saw Joe and Grace walking around the lake, looking for him and talking animatedly. He felt a rush of happiness – despite the shit they’d gone through, his kids were well adjusted, happy people, and he was proud of them. Would they be happy for him, he wondered? Before he had time to think it through they spotted him, changing course with matching grins.

Martin hugged them both tightly before Grace said brightly, “Ice-cream, I’m guessing?”

Martin smiled and nodded and they walked towards their usual vendor, catching up on the family news. Amanda and her husband were in France, the nanny more or less in charge, though both Grace and Joe were too old for a nanny.

“Next year you can leave me in charge, Dad,” Joe said, shooting a playfully stern look at his sister.

Grace rolled her eyes with the distain only a fifteen year old can manage. “That should go well,” she replied, “as long as you don’t have to do anything remotely responsible, you should be fine.”

The faux hostilities were halted as they ordered their ice-cream, then the trio moved over to sit on one of the nearby benches. Martin felt his heart start to beat faster as he drew a deep breath.

“So,” he said, in a tone that clearly meant business – both Joe and Grace stopped their exchange and looked at him.

“I’ve started seeing someone.” Martin said carefully, looking at their faces to gauge reactions.

Grace nodded, licking at her ice-cream. “Anyone we know?” She asked.

Joe looked at her and they shared a grin. Martin was distracted from his own nerves. He knew that grin. That was a ‘we know what’s going on’ grin.

“What?” he asked, scrutinising their faces. Neither could hold the mask of innocence for long, bursting into laughter.

“I’m guessing this is where you tell us one of two things,” Joe said, the default spokesperson as Grace was still giggling  away. “Either you’ve finally gotten over Benedict and met someone else, or you and Benedict have finally, finally gotten together.” He continued to eat his ice-cream as though nothing monumental was happening, Martin thought, his own reaction so shocked that he dropped his own ice-cream onto his shoe.

“What?” he repeated dumbly.

“About a year ago I read an email that was definitely not intended for me.” Joe told Martin. “You know, when you’d just gotten the iPad and wanted to get the email working? You accidentally forwarded me an email from Louise. It had a whole lot of stuff I didn’t really get, but she said, ‘Don’t think that just because he’s never dated a man he’s entirely straight, Martin. He and Sophie have known each other forever, when would he have had the chance?’ or something like that.” Joe shrugged, a little self-conscious, a little apprehensive. “I’m sorry, Dad, I shouldn’t have read it all but I didn’t really realise it wasn’t meant for me. Took me a while but when I figured it out it made sense.”

Martin still had not spoken, and Joe now stood up, impassioned. “Dad, you and Benedict have amazing chemistry, it’s ridiculous. You were such good friends in the early days of Sherlock, he even visited you in New Zealand, it made sense that you might have fallen for him.”

“He is gorgeous.” Grace chimed in, and Martin shot her a glance. She smiled at him.

“And you haven’t dated anyone since you and Mum split up, it fits that you’ve been pining for someone.”

“I haven’t been pining!” Martin protested.

“Yes you have, Dad.” Grace interjected, and Martin turned to face his daughter. “Dad, you haven’t been this happy in…I can’t remember you ever being this happy.” She said, the smile of understanding so grown up that Martin had a glimpse of the woman she would grow into. “When _Sherlock_ started you were so uptight, more than usual, but the last few weeks, we’ve both noticed how relaxed you are, how happy.” Martin could see Joe nodding out of the corner of his eye. “It’s Benedict, isn’t it?” When Martin didn’t answer, instead looking down at his hands, she shifted closer, saying quietly, “He makes you so happy, Dad. Please say yes.”

“Yes.” Martin whispered, and both Joe and Grace let out huge whoops of triumph and jumped in the air, Joe tossing his ice-cream in celebration. They started dancing with glee, and Martin could do nothing but chuckle at their obvious delight. Well that was a relief, he thought, though if this ended up on YouTube he would be mortified forever.

“Okay, okay.” He said, and they threw their arms around him, hugging him tightly. A rush of emotion took hold and Martin held them close, relief and love and pride fighting for real estate in his heart.

“Was it that obvious?” he asked them, and Joe grinned.

“Only to your nearest and dearest.” Joe replied. “I may also have rung to leave you a message once or twice, and the runner told me you and Benedict were holed up together ‘as usual’” he used air quotes around these two words, “and that did add evidence to the argument, Dad.”

Martin sighed a deep sigh of relief. The kids were fine. He was fine. Now he just had to get through the next few days of filming – and some serious conversation with Benedict, and maybe some serious sex with Benedict – and he and Benedict would be fine. He hoped.


	17. Text Message Interlude II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a long wait 'til the party.

Sunday evening

_How’d it go today? BC_

_Good. You? MF_

_Good. BC_

_Can you talk? MF_

_Not really – Lily asleep on my lap. BC_

_Okay. Lily and Chris okay? MF_

_Yes. Lily offered to share her bacon with you. BC_

_Wow. MF_

_Yep. BC_

_What about Grace and Joe? BC_

_They’ve known for a while, apparently. Regular Sherlocks, the pair of them. MF_

_Is there anyone who DIDN’T know? BC_

_Yeah. You. ; ) MF_

_Oh my god, you’re using the smiley face. BC_

_Learned from the best. MF_

_Miss you. MF_

_Only four days to go. BC_

_We’ll have to talk before the party…MF_

_I know. Mark was full on. Bed for Lily now, though. BC_

_He was. See you tomorrow. x MF_

_x BC_

Monday 

_Dinner tonight? MF_

_Can’t tonight, my schedule is so full, I’m just staying on set ‘til the party. BC_

_Bloody Steven, I’ll bet. I’ll come past on my way out, then. MF_

_Sounds good. BC_

_Hi guys – just wanted you to know we traced that security leak to one of the sound guys. He’s gone. Mark_

_Thanks Mark. We appreciate you chasing that down. BC_

_Just in case you wanted to relax or whatever at the wrap party. ; ) Mark_

_You’ve been talking to Martin. What’s with the smiley face?? BC_

_What do you mean? Mark_

_Nothing. BC_

Tuesday

_You were asleep last night so I didn’t stay. MF_

_Sorry, so tired right now. You should have woken me. BC_

_Too cute to wake x MF_

_Did you get Mark’s message last night? BC_

_Yes. MF_

_Should we do it at the party, then? BC_

_I didn’t know you had a public kink. MF_

_You know what I mean. BC_

_I do know. Okay. MF_

_Mark, we want to tell everyone at the party. Can you help us make sure it doesn’t get out right away? MF_

_No electronic devices. Radio silence. Easy. Mark_

_Thanks. MF_

_Mark’s going to sort it so there can’t be a leak from the party. We should have a couple of hours at least. MF_

_Really? That’s excellent. BC_

_I’m nervous. MF_

_Me too. BC_

_Together, right? MF_

_Always. BC_

_xx MF_

_xx BC_

Wednesday

_Have you two decided on a plan? Lou_

_Kind of. MF_

_Kind of yes, or kind of no? Lou_

_We’re going to tell everyone at the party, but we haven’t talked about after that. MF_

_Not even about the sex? Lou_

_When exactly would we have that conversation? Benedict’s been working constantly, he’s not even going off set this week! MF_

_Okay, okay, sorry. Lou_

_Sorry, Lou. So frustrated…MF_

_Clearly. You need a shag. Lou_

_LOU! MF_

_I know what you mean. Only a few more days though after all this time. You can do it. xx Lou_

_Thanks Lou. You’re the best. MF_

_Spotted: tall dark and handsome, walking across the carpark. Any idea where I can get some of that? MF_

_I can probably find some if you’re interested….BC_

_Oh, I’m interested. MF_

_Maybe after the party I can bring you some. BC_

_After the party, hey? BC_

_I might even gift wrap it for you. You’d have to undo the layers…BC_

_I can’t wait. MF_

_I’ve been thinking about it a lot. BC_

_Me too. MF_

_Lou just left – have you been talking to her about us? BC_

_Yes and no – nothing too personal. What did she say? MF_

_She wanted to know if we’d talked about having sex. With each other. BC_

_She fucking didn’t. MF_

_Yes. BC_

_Oh shit. Look, I can’t call you, I’m on set. I swear I didn’t bring it up, she kept talking about it. What did she say? MF_

_Benedict? MF_

_Lou! WHAT DID YOU SAY TO BENEDICT? MF_

_Seriously not okay, Lou. Just don’t talk to him again before the party. Please. We just need one uninterrupted live conversation before anything else happens. MF_

_BENEDICT? MF_

_Shit, will you answer me? MF_

_Look, I have to go. Please call me, or text or something. Maybe we can ride to the party together. x MF_

_I hate this. I want to be able to talk to you. I’ll be on set on Thursday – come to my trailer before the party? x BC_

Thursday

_This afternoon’s shoot is cancelled. We’ve cut some scenes etc. See you at the party. Mark_

_What? BC_

_Just get some sleep, Benedict. Martin will be over an hour or so before the party. Mark_

_Um, thanks? BC_

_Thank Louise. Mark_

_What did you do to Mark? BC_

_He owed me a favour. And I owed you one – I’m sorry. Lou_

_It’s fine. We’re just not up to joking about it yet. BC_

_I know. TALK TO HIM tonight. Please. x Lou_

_x BC_

_My afternoon has been cancelled. I’ll be sleeping but I hope you can still come over before the party…BC_

_Of course. If you still want me to. MF_

_YES. We need to see each other. And there are things to talk about. BC_

_And I miss you. x BC_

_I miss you too. I’ll see you tonight. x MF_


	18. The Wrap Party I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the big night. What will the boys decided to do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While this could theoretically be the end of their tale, there are a couple more chapters in my head. Good chance of a hike in the rating, so if you're not into that, this might be a good place to depart. As usual, I am exceptionally grateful to those who have followed this story and have let me know how much they're enjoying it. <3

Benedict always felt like this at the end of a shoot – a combination of relief, exhaustion, and a level of sadness depending on how much he had enjoyed the experience. This time, as he spoke to and thanked members of the crew, there was something new – a flutter of excitement and trepidation. Tonight was the wrap party. He had enough time for a sleep, before getting ready for Martin to come over. They had an hour or so before a car would arrive to take them out, and there was a lot to talk about. Considering that Benedict had put some serious thought into just dropping back into bed with Martin instead of talking, it would not be an easy conversation on which to concentrate. That was a given, since they had to decide if they would go public tonight; if so, would they put out a press statement or just let the internet do its thing? Benedict had had a long conversation the previous night with both his own publicist and Celia, the woman Mark had suggested. She’d not batted an eyelid when he had called her quite late, and they’d talked for a long time. His head was now whirling with possibilities and ideas. As he finally left the set and made for his trailer, Benedict sighed. There were decisions to be made, and they really didn’t have enough time to think about their options properly. There was no way they would be able to stay at the party long without people getting suspicious – it had been too long of hiding and supressing his desire to be seen _with_ Martin, and Benedict knew the looks they sent each other would be as clear as if he grabbed Martin’s arse.

Grinning to himself as he had a quick shower, washing Sherlock away for perhaps the last time, Sherlock thought about Martin’s arse. Now that was an interesting idea, he thought, but forced himself to set his alarm and collapse into bed. He would need all the sleep he could get before this big night. Sleep did not come easily, and Martin was there, walking through his dreams and making Benedict feel decidedly unrested when he woke. Though his limbs were heavy, an energy buzzed through them at the thought of how close they now were to being an ‘us’. Benedict shook himself out, stretching the kinks out of his torso before stripping out of his t-shirt and pyjama pants. As much as he wanted to stay wrapped up and warm in his trailer, possibly with Martin, he reached for some clothes for the party. Benedict was endlessly grateful that, as this was an internal event, the dress code was pretty much anything he wanted. He chose comfortable black chinos, a patterned red shirt, and black cardigan. He’d add his leather jacket and a hat later – it would be cold once the sun went down. Just as he was debating how much effort to put into Sherlock’s hair (why exactly had he agreed to grow his hair out again?), there was a tentative knock at his door. Glancing at his watch, Benedict’s heart leapt. Martin.

“You don’t usually knock.” Benedict remarked at Martin climbed the step into the trailer.

“Yeah, well…” Martin replied awkwardly, and Benedict felt immediately guilty.

“Hey,” he said quietly, reaching for Martin’s hand, “I’m sorry.” He didn’t elaborate, but the relief was evident in Martin, who clearly knew what the apology entailed. Benedict tugged on Martin’s hand, and he did not protest as he was drawn closer to Benedict. They kissed gently, exploring and reaffirming their commitment. When they finally broke apart, Benedict was breathing harder, and he could see the desire in Martin’s eyes.

“So we’ve got an hour, right?” Benedict said, checking his watch.

“More or less.” Martin agreed. They stood awkwardly for another moment, avoiding each other’s gaze. With a sudden flourish, Martin took out a hipflask, drank deeply, then offered it wordlessly to Benedict. He grinned and accepted it, the scotch burning his throat as he drank.

“Let’s get into this conversation, then.” Martin said, sliding into one side of the tiny table. He pointed to the other side. “You sit over there, or I won’t be able to keep my hands off you and there’ll be no conversation at all.”

Benedict grinned at this, the tension in the room dissipating as he did what he was told. Martin reached for his hand, interlacing their fingers and squeezing. It connected them without allowing anything more, and Benedict was impressed that Martin could be thinking so clearly.

“Right.” Martin began. “I have no idea where you stand on anything so I’m just going to put all my thoughts out there and we can argue from there, okay?” his smile told Benedict that he knew ‘argue’ was too strong a word, and he began, talking about the conversation he had had with his publicist and with Celia, the woman Mark had suggested.

“I spoke to her as well,” Benedict interjected. “She seemed to know what she was doing with all this.” He hesitated, not wanting to suggest the idea that had come to him, but Martin raised his eyebrow in mute appeal. Benedict fumbled a little before saying, “Much as I hate to leave Angie, Celia brought up the good point that if we are going to be in this together it makes sense to have one publicist.” It wasn’t the idea of sharing a publicist, Benedict knew, more that in making the suggestion, he was making a clear statement about how serious he was about their relationship. Not normally something that came up quite so early on. He was nervous, not knowing what Martin thought, but the tight squeeze of his fingers and the look of tenderness in Martin’s eyes told him that yes, it was mutual.

“Sounds like a good idea to me, too.” Martin said, and they stared warmly into each other’s eyes for a moment, accepting the idea that they’d both just admitted to seeing a future together, despite the newness of their relationship. Martin cleared his throat and they continued, talking about how and when to make statements, answer questions and generally deal with the media storm that would certainly gather around them when the news broke. Celia had obviously had the same conversation with both of them, and Benedict merely had to nod and agree to most of what Martin was proposing. He felt good that they were on the same page, though there were several scenarios that neither had the faintest idea how they’d handle. At least they agreed that Celia would earn her keep once things started to happen.

“And your kids and parents are really on board with all this?” Martin asked suddenly, changing course from publicity to family.

Benedict nodded. “Mum and Dad are happy that I’m happy, Chris is completely unfazed as long as we live in London, and if Lily is offering her bacon, well…” he trailed off, knowing that Martin would know how significant that was. “What about Grace and Joe?”

Martin rolled his eyes, “They’ve known for ages, as I said, and they’re over the moon.” He blushed and admitted, “Grace said she’s never seen me this happy.”

Smiling, Benedict stood and leaned over the table, brushing his lips over Martin’s. They grinned at each other, then Benedict spoke. “What about tonight, then?” He asked, his face becoming serious again.

Martin nodded. “I don’t know about you,” he said, and Benedict could see the effort he was making to sound matter of fact, “but I doubt I can be convincing for a whole evening.”

Benedict had been almost holding his breath as he waited for the verdict from Martin, and now his face split into a huge grin as he blurted, “Me, either.”

“So it’s a proper date, then.” Martin confirmed, and Benedict nodded, knowing his grin was still wide and silly and not caring at all.

“Mark told me he’s going to arrange for radio silence for a whole block around the venue,” Martin explained, and Benedict raised his eyebrows in surprise. “It’s probably not all that legal, but I don’t care.” Martin went on, tracing a design over the back of Benedict’s hand. “Because I get to be there with you, without worrying that it will be on Twitter before I’ve even finished kissing you.”

“Kissing me, hey?” Benedict asked, and Martin obliged, standing to lean over the table, before realising he was too short. Swearing as Benedict chuckled, he moved around the table, kneeling on the seat next to Benedict. They were just getting going on a really good snog when there was a knock at the door.

“That’s the car, I guess.” Martin murmured, dropping a last kiss on Benedict’s lips. He stood to greet the driver while Benedict grabbed his jacket and hat, resigning Sherlock’s hair to the riotous tumble it became when untreated. Then, finally, _finally,_ they stepped into the car for what was really their first date. It had occurred to Benedict that the driver would be able to tweet about them if they were not discrete before the party, but Martin must have come to the same conclusion, because they were polite but distant for the blessedly short ride. Once he’d dropped them off, Martin looked at Benedict, causing a storm of nervous butterflies to take flight in his stomach.

“Ready?” Martin muttered, and Benedict nodded. They walked into the building, dropping their mobile phones at reception and submitting to an airport-style body scan. If it helped keep the evening relatively private, Benedict was all for it, and they walked into the party room, blinking in the dim light as they looked for familiar faces. These things were often open to everyone who had even remotely contributed to the show; a smaller more select celebration was planned at Mark’s place over the weekend. It did mean the celebrity factor was a little higher, and Benedict and Martin found themselves swept in opposite directions as eager set designers, costumers, accountants and animators looked for their brush with fame. He was secretly pleased they had been made to leave their phones at the door; without the selfie requests, it was far easier to keep the conversations short and move on to look for people he knew. Spotting a group of crew members he’d worked with, Benedict joined them, snagging a beer and tuning in to their conversation. It was much warmer in here than he’d expected, so he dropped his jacket and cardigan on a table, staying near the group he knew. He was listening to their banter as he finished his beer, but his eyes still roved over the crowd, wondering where Martin had gone.

“Bring a date, Ben?” Andrew asked, smirking.

“Errr…” Benedict replied hesitantly.

“You’ve got that look, Ben, like you’re waiting for someone special.” Thomas said jovially, clapping him on the back. Benedict offered him a weak smile, and returned to his scan of the room, finally spotting Martin talking to a group of women he thought worked in catering. Benedict felt his lips draw into a smile, his shoulders relaxing as Martin caught his eye and smiled back at him, the affection evident in his eyes. How had he thought that they might be able to keep this to themselves, Benedict wondered. He pushed off the wall he’d been leaning against, heading for Martin as Martin did the same, disengaging himself from the women with barely a backwards look. He headed for Benedict, radiating the same happiness Benedict felt coursing through his body. Finally, he thought.

As they moved towards the middle of the room, the DJ spotted Benedict, picking up the microphone and calling, “Ladies and gents, it’s Benedict Cumberbatch!” A second later, he must have seen Martin, adding, “And Martin Freeman, everybody!” A background of applause sounded, echoing in Benedict’s ears, though his attention was captivated by Martin, the rest of the room fading in comparison.

Benedict’s eyes had never left Martin, and as they drew closer, they shared an unspoken conversation, lips twitching and eyebrows fractionally raising as they made a joint decision.

_We seem to be the centre of attention._

_I noticed._

_What do you think?_

_There’s no going back from this._

_I know. I trust you._

_Me too. Let’s do it._

After what seemed like forever, they met in the middle of the room, applause still sounding somewhere far away. Benedict stooped a little, his hands coming up to cup Martin’s face, thumbs sliding over his cheekbones. He could feel Martin’s arms slide around him, hands gripping the back of his shirt. Their smile had become intimate, cocooning them in their own world as they stood close, enjoying this moment, after so many moments had slipped by them. Benedict didn’t care that they were clearly the centre of attention; all his attention was on Martin, trying to convey his affection and trust and the sheer joy he was experiencing at no longer having to hide. He could see the same in Martin, the sense of relief, the warmth and care coming off him in waves, enveloping Benedict.

“Do you think they’ve got the idea?” Benedict murmured, brushing his lips lightly over Martin’s.

Martin smiled wickedly. “Let’s make sure there’s no doubt, shall we?” He ran one hand up to tangle in Benedict’s Sherlock-long hair and brought his mouth down to meet his own, pressing their lips together. Benedict’s eyes fluttered closed and he hoped the little groan that escaped him was quiet enough to go unnoticed. When Martin released him, Benedict opened his eyes, meeting Martin’s in the most perfect gaze he could imagine. He could feel the attention of the crowd on them.

“I think people may possibly be looking.” Martin whispered against Benedict’s mouth.

Benedict giggled, the endorphins bubbling like champagne through his body. “I certainly hope so.” He replied, and they remained close for a moment longer before pulling back, hands sliding together as they turned to face the room. Lou was the first to break from the crowd and come over to greet them, her happiness tempered by the apology hovering on her lips.

“Hi!” she started nervously. Benedict grabbed her in a one armed hug before she could speak again and whispered, “Thank you.” She froze for a moment before hugging him back tightly. Benedict released her and she hugged Martin. Benedict was glad to see that the crowd was no longer watching them like an art installation. Conversations had restarted, though the number of side glances at them told him they were probably the new topic for quite a few people. Not that he cared, he thought, squeezing Martin’s hand and feeling the answering pressure. Not even a bit.


	19. The Wrap Party II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin and Benedict are finally able to be open about their relationship - and there are some interesting reactions.

Martin felt oddly removed from the scene, as though he was looking down from far away at a slightly different world. He was sitting next to Benedict on one of the long bench seats that lined the room. They were sitting close enough that their thighs were touching and one of Benedict’s hands was held firmly in Martin’s, fingers interlaced. It was surreal, Martin thought for the hundredth time, after so much wondering and waiting. He propped his other elbow on the table in front of him, amazed that they were able to sit like this now, with people congratulating them, for goodness sake. He wasn’t naïve enough to think that their path would be all rainbows and unicorns; in fact this was likely to be the very short honeymoon period before the merciless press began to prowl. All the more reason to cherish it, he reminded himself. He looked across at Benedict, who was watching him in a very Sherlock way, Martin thought.

“I know, I’m not thinking about it,” Martin murmured, and Benedict grinned – they both knew what he was talking about. Benedict squeezed Martin’s hand, and that genuine smile that Martin had only ever seen when they were alone flooded his face. Another bonus, Martin thought to himself – I’ll see that smile a whole lot more. His own answering smile was already spreading, and they had a blissful moment cocooned in their own world before Rupert plopped himself down on a chair on the other side of their table.

“Hello, boys,” he greeted them, his usual form of address. “How’s things?”

Martin raised one eyebrow, and Rupert nodded impatiently. “Yeah, yeah, I’m sure it’s all roses and sunbeams. What’s next on the agenda, then? A bit of time off?”

As Benedict started talking about possible plans with Rupert, Martin was relieved. He was sure the ‘what’s this/how long/details, details’ conversation about their relationship would get old soon, and the less people who wanted to have that conversation the better. Plus, of course, if Rupert didn’t think it worth talking about, he was completely okay with it and that was a relief too – Martin wasn’t quite sure how some of his colleagues and friends might react.

He tuned back into the conversation, realising that Benedict and Rupert were tentatively arranging a holiday with all the kids, which would be both fun and completely crazy.

“Sounds like an insane idea.” Martin added his two cents when Benedict turned an inquiring look his way. “I’m in, of course.” Rupert raised his beer to that, and they toasted.

“We’ll talk, then,” Rupert told them both, rising from his seat. He saluted them both with his beer before wandering off to talk to someone else.

“So we’re all going on holiday, then?” Martin asked.

“You’d know the answer was yes if you’d been listening.” Benedict reprimanded him, though there was a smile on his lips as he did so.

“Well I’m sorry if I’m so delirious with happiness that I keep losing track of boring things like other people.” Martin retorted, leaning close to Benedict, breathing in the scent of his cologne.

“I suppose that’s a good enough excuse.” Benedict muttered, and Martin felt a tug low in his belly at the look Benedict was directing at him. Oh boy, he thought to himself, then corrected that to, Oh fuck. We are so getting laid tonight. The details of that were still a little foggy in his mind, but as he started to ponder the possibilities again, he was interrupted by a higher pitched, gentle voice.

“I hope I’m not interrupting you two.” Martin looked up into Una’s beaming face. He immediately offered her his seat, taking a chair for himself as she sat down.

“I won’t stay long,” she said, patting Benedict fondly on the cheek, “I just wanted you to know how happy I am for you both.” She beamed again at them, her hand landing on Martin’s this time. “Take care of each other, this won’t be easy,” she warned them, the smile dimming a little, before it cranked up again as she went on, “but it will be worth it.” With those words of wisdom, she kissed each of them on the cheek and declared, “Well I am simply too old to stay out another moment.” Benedict rose with her and escorted her towards the door. Martin grinned indulgently – Benedict was such a gentleman, and his affection for the now quite elderly lady was clear.

As soon as Benedict was out of view, Sarah approached Martin, sitting herself quite close to him. Her daughter Layla, who played Rosie, was not here but she had obviously talked herself into an invitation.

Martin blinked at her. “Hi.” He said.

She was smiling at him in a way that was obviously meant to mean something, though he had no idea what. “Nice little show you two are putting on.” She said, he voice light. The hazel eyes on his were intense.

Martin frowned. “Show?” He knew he was being slow on the uptake here, but was she insinuating…

“You and Benedict. You’re not really together, any fool can see that. Part of the publicity is it?” She nodded in the direction of Steven. “I’m guessing it was his idea, he’s always behind the complicated stuff.” She turned her attention back to Martin, and he jumped when he felt her hand on his thigh, uncomfortably high and sliding higher. Reactively, he clamped his own hand over hers, stopping it in its tracks. She chuckled. “We can always have a little fun, doesn’t have to spoil the game.” As she leaned in, a wave of her perfume rolled over Martin, something sweet and flowery and not at all appealing.

“Actually, it’s not a show.” Martin told her, smiling over his gritted teeth. Best not to cause a scene if he could help it. She blinked at him in confusion. “It’s real.” Martin went on, “We’ve been seeing each other for a while, and this is the time we’ve decided to tell people about it. So I’m sorry but I’m not interested.” He removed her hand from his body to further press his point.

“Oh, come on Martin, we’ve both felt something between us these last weeks,” she cajoled, still leaning in to him, “don’t you want to see what it could feel like?” Her tone suggested exactly what she meant and Martin had to suppress a shudder at her brazen approach.

Just as he was trying to decide how to extricate himself without causing a blow up, Sue approached him, ignoring Sarah completely. She engulfed him in a hug, wrapping her arms around him and whispering, “Go with it,” in his ear.

When she released him, Sue said, “I am so glad you and Benedict have finally decided to tell everyone you’re a couple. I mean, you’ve been doing an amazing job of keeping it a secret, of course, but we could see how besotted you are with each other.” She laughed, then went on, “It’s pretty obvious you’ve only got eyes for each other.”

For the first time, Sue acknowledged Sarah, saying jovially, “Bad luck to all those fangirls, right? No good them throwing themselves at these two anymore, they’re definitely off the market!” She laughed again, and Martin joined her, following the lead and hoping Sarah would get the thinly veiled message. Sarah shot Sue a sickly half-smile before muttering something about a babysitter and stalking off.

Sue winked at Martin as he thanked her. “I could see what she was doing from the other side of the room,” Sue told him, “honestly, she’s shameless.” She looked at Martin again, a genuine smile now taking over. “I really am glad you’ve decided to make it public. The storm will be fierce but it will blow over eventually, and you’ll have each other.” She shook her head. “I think keeping it a secret is harder on you both. I have no first-hand experience of course, but I’ve seen some relationships really take a beating over it.” They made a little more small talk before she left to refill her drink. Martin smiled after her, grateful she had rescued him from Sarah, whom he suspected he might not see again. He was also grateful to be able to mark ‘supporter’ against another name on his list. Sue was almost a given, really, but Martin knew that nothing was certain.

“Well, Una’s safely on her way.” Benedict said as he walked back up to Martin. “Who’ve you been talking to?”

Martin chuckled and told him the story of Sarah and Sue, eyes twinkling as he watched Benedict go from shock to outrage to relief as Sue saved the day.

“She’s really happy for us, too, for the record.” Martin added after Benedict had calmed down from his moment of jealousy.

“Good. I figured she would be…” Benedict trailed off, and Martin finished for him, “…but nothing’s for sure.”

“Good lord, we’re one of those cutesy couples already, finishing each other’s sentences.” Benedict rolled his eyes dramatically, and Martin stepped forward, wrapping his arms around Benedict’s waist and beaming up at him.

“Yeah,” Martin told him in a syrupy voice, “Isn’t it grand?” He laughed at the expression of disgust on Benedict’s face, then felt a thrill as Benedict’s arms wound around his body, pulling him close.

“It is indeed.” Benedict growled. Martin could feel the words reverberate through Benedict’s chest, the rumble sending a thrill through his body. They stood together for a few moments, swaying together to the music.

“You know,” Benedict murmured, ducking his head so his mouth was next to Martin’s ear, “we’ve been here a couple of hours now.” Martin’s heart immediately started beating faster. He nodded in reply. Benedict waited a beat, then went on, “We could probably leave now without offending anyone too badly.” As if it wasn’t already accelerated, Martin’s heartrate sped up even further. He pulled his head back from where it had been resting against Benedict’s shoulder so he could look into those incredible eyes. They were looking at him, pupils wider than usual, apprehension and arousal showing in equal measures.

Martin was sure his own face reflected the same emotions. He swallowed. “Your place or mine?” He whispered, and was rewarded with a tentative smile.

“Mine’s closer,” Benedict replied. Martin nodded jerkily, and they broke apart, hands linking as they both searched for an anchor in the swirl of emotion that now seemed to surround them.

“Have you spoken to Steven?” Martin asked, and Benedict shook his head. “We really should,” Martin said reluctantly, and Benedict agreed. They spotted him and started in that direction, before Mark stopped in front of them, arm firmly around Ian’s waist.

“You two should go home and shag.” Mark told them, and Ian giggled, clearly drunk. Martin felt his face awash with heat, and he could tell from the suddenly firm grip on his hand that Benedict’s mortification matched his own at the bold statement.

“We were on our way over to talk to Steven, actually.” Martin managed.

Mark let out a snort of tipsy derision. “I’m sure you’d rather go home than talk to him, he’ll be banging on about the publicity and all that. You two could be doing some quite different banging if you go home now.” Martin was frozen at these casual references to their currently-non-existent sex life, and it was quite easy for Mark to turn them both around and push them towards the door. Both Benedict and Martin kept walking, neither looking at the other until they were standing in front of reception collecting their phones. One glance and their eyes met, and Martin found himself giggling uncontrollably, leaning against an equally insensible Benedict. They managed to get themselves into a cab and on their way to Benedict’s house, both still breaking into giggles whenever they looked at each other. It was much easier to keep their hands to themselves in this cab – they could barely look at each other with straight faces.


	20. At Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "At last, my love has come along; my lonely days are over, and life is like a song." Etta James, 'At Last'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello patient people! This has been a long time in the making, as I've finally made a decision about exactly where to end their story. For me, this fic was about how the romantic story line in series 5 prompted these two to examine and ultimately change their relationship – and this is the point where that particular arc ends. I hope you’ve enjoyed it; it has certainly been a longer ride than I’d planned, but I have thoroughly enjoyed exploring the different dynamic and personalities (all my own creations, as I sadly lack first-hand knowledge of Benedict or Martin’s personalities). Thank you to everyone that’s contributed comments and kudos. As you know, they are as lifeblood to us writers, and I for one am humbled every time someone takes the time to let me know they’ve liked my work. <3

Stepping out of the cab, Benedict shivered.

“Damn, I left my jacket at the party.” he said, rubbing his arms with his hands. Martin smiled and enfolded him in his too short-to reach arms. He smiled up into Benedict’s face, then wiggled his eyebrows and said in a faux seductive voice, “I can think of something to warm you up.”

Benedict groaned and pushed him away. “Don’t get me started giggling again or there will seriously be none of that tonight.” Both men were still smiling, but as they held each other’s gaze and the moment went on, the atmosphere became less jovial.

“Inside?” Benedict suggested, and Martin nodded. He followed Benedict inside, heart pounding again. None of this was funny, all of a sudden; he felt more nervous than when he knew he was in with Felicity Langridge in Sixth Form, and he’d chased her for over a year. They moved into the kitchen, Benedict pouring water for them both, an automatic ‘just home from a party’ response. They’d joked time and again about not being twenty any more, needing to think about avoiding the hangovers rather than accepting them as inevitable after a few drinks. Once their drinks were gone, they stood awkwardly in the kitchen. Martin wanted to kiss Benedict, but he was still apprehensive about what came next. The idea of touching Benedict and being touched was…good. Arousing. Hot. _Fucking_ hot, if he was completely honest, but he had no idea where to start, or what he might be interested in trying, or comfortable with. Nervously, Martin ran one hand through his hair. It wasn’t this hard when he met a woman, why was it harder now?

“So,” Benedict started, just as Martin blurted out, “I’m nervous as fuck.” They stared at each other for a second before breaking into identical relieved smiles. Martin fished out his hipflask again, and they both drank from it, grinning wryly at each other.

“Me too.” Benedict admitted, tension bleeding out of his body as he relaxed.

“Right, another difficult conversation. Let’s have at it.” Martin said, knowing his face was flushing but determined not to let his own shyness stop this from happening.

“It’s not this difficult usually.” Benedict complained finally, his own features far pinker than usual.

Martin snorted. “I know. That’s probably because there’s a man, and a woman, and one main idea, and it’s generally accepted that that’s what’s going to happen, at least.”

Another awkward silence, and Martin made himself break it this time. “I don’t know if you’ve had any conversations with anyone who has, um, done this before?”

“Have you?” Benedict asked.

Martin nodded. “Yeah.”

Benedict paused, and Martin could see him arranging his thoughts until he spoke again. “It made this seem not at all awkward.” They both laughed again, a little strained but at least it’s relieving the tension, Martin thought. Well, some of it.

“Monologue?” Martin offered. From what he could see, as uncomfortable as he was with talking about this, it was very unlikely that Benedict would get far if it was up to him. He’d had a lot fewer years to think about it, to be fair, Martin thought to himself. He took a deep breath, making himself look in Benedict’s direction as he spoke. “I’ve never been with a man before. I’d be interested in trying, um, penetrative stuff, if that’s something you’d maybe want to explore.” His face burned again as he went on, “I’ve done some stuff as an, um, recipient, and it was, um, pretty good. So I’d be okay if you want to top. But we don’t have to have sex like that if you don’t want to.” He shrugged self-consciously. “Obviously I want you to enjoy it, so…” Martin trailed off here, his ability to stand in a kitchen and baldly state facts about exactly how he wanted to have sex with Benedict exhausted.

Benedict cleared his throat. His eyes had grown wider as Martin spoke, and Martin wondered if he would speak at all. When he did, it was a complete surprise. His gaze locked on Martin, and it was intense and _smouldering_. “I want to be inside you.”  Benedict’s voice was low and sure and sexy as hell. “I want to be inside you and I want to have you inside me. I want to lick every inch of your skin, find every freckle and hear every story about every scar. I want you to know the taste of me when I come in your mouth, and I want to kiss you and taste myself on your tongue.”

It was possible he’d had an out of body experience, Martin thought, taking stock of what had changed in the last ten seconds. He sucked in a deep breath, as he had apparently stopped breathing. His eyes were wide, mouth open, cock hard as rock.

“Fuck…” he whispered, and Benedict chuckled the same deep growl. Martin cleared his throat. “You didn’t nick that from some fan fiction, did you?”

The look of indignation on Benedict’s face was priceless, and Martin’s grin was short lived as he stalked across the kitchen to slide his hands around the back of Benedict’s neck, pulling his mouth down into a hot, open kiss. In between kisses, Martin managed to say, “That…was the…single…most arousing…thing…anyone…has ever…said to me.” He stopped kissing Benedict for a moment, his tongue tingling with the taste and friction.

“I’m sure we can figure out the details,” he added, then kissed Benedict hard again, sliding his hands up into the still Sherlock-long, wild curls. Benedict’s hands were at the small of his back, pressing Martin’s body into the long lines of his own. Martin needed no encouragement, wanting to crawl inside Benedict’s suit with him. Panting, he pulled away long enough to gasp, “Bed?” Benedict nodded fervently and they stumbled out of the kitchen, stopping along the way to press bodies together against the wall, revelling in the freedom to touch and kiss, finally. Martin could feel Benedict’s erection pressing against his lower stomach, the sensation both new and incredibly arousing.

Once in Benedict’s bedroom, Martin felt a slackening of the desperation that had been underlying their kissing. They continued to kiss but it was slower, more sensual. The frenzy was over, and this was more about exploration than heat. Martin’s hands worked at Benedict’s buttons, then his own; the press of their bare skin together made both shiver, the kiss breaking off with their mutual gasps.

Things turned quite fuzzy after that. Martin remembered snapshots, moments of ecstatic bliss; the taste of salty skin under his tongue, warm skin against his own. The sound of heavy breathing, his own name in a deep voice, reverential and soft. A slow build of pleasure as the sensations took over, pressing his brain into submission, his ability to reason temporarily offline as all his peripheral nerves sang with awareness, flooding his brain. And finally, the tearing at the back of his throat as he shouted, feeling the warm wetness spurt over his stomach, body spasming as the intense bliss coursed through him. Dimly, he registered a similar shout from Benedict and they collapsed in each other’s arms, sated and entangled.

As his exhaustion threatened to overtake him, Martin’s brain had the energy for one last coherent thought.

 _At last,_ it sighed _._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Etta James' version of ['At Last'.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S-cbOl96RFM)


End file.
